Without You
by Kismet23
Summary: Eames is forced to face the demons of her past, and as she and Bobby work at moving on together, they're embroiled in a case that unearths demons even they'd forgotten about.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – Dick Wolf is the master of the Law and Order domain; I'm just playin'.**

It was just a regular day at the office; well, up until the point all hell broke loose, anyway. Goren and Eames were, as usual, working their way through a complicated case, doing the always-glamorous research needed to pinpoint a suspect. Working with a large pile of files on a conference room table, they had each chosen several that had promise, and had just exchanged piles to get the others' perspective on their choices. As they were reading through the others' files, Eames suddenly gasped, turned pale, and ran from the room. Stunned, Bobby was frozen for a moment; it was totally unlike his even-tempered partner to get upset, and his brain was working overtime trying to figure out what it was that had set her off.

He realized that she had taken the file she was looking at with her, and so followed her out to the squad room. To his utter shock, she was on the phone, screaming at some unknown source of aggravation, "HOW is it possible that I was not told about this? This is UNACCEPTABLE, and you know it. I wasn't even given the chance to be there!" She listened to something being said, then, though he didn't think it was possible, paled even further, sitting down hard in her chair. In a flash he was beside her, full of concern and not a little fear. Deflated, she flipped her cell closed, unable or unwilling even to meet his eyes. Clutching the offending file to her chest, she grabbed her jacket and purse off the back of her chair, mumbled "I'm going home," and left. Not one to be so easily put off, Bobby chased her down the hall to the elevator. "Eames, what the hell is wrong? I-if you tell me, maybe I can h-help." Still keeping her head down, she said quietly, "Not this time, Bobby, I-I just need to be alone right now, okay? I'm sorry."

Knowing that she wouldn't ask him for something she didn't really need, he decided to let it be for the moment. "Okay. Call me if you need me." He was rewarded with a glimpse of her teary face as she looked up briefly to attempt a smile for him. "Thanks, I will." With that, she got in the elevator and was gone, leaving a very concerned and now-determined partner in her wake.

_Alone time or no, I need to find out what in the hell was in that file. I've never seen her like that; no one's ever seen her like that. _Heading back towards the conference room, he dug through the mess they'd made, looking for the inventory of files. He'd handed her about 10 from an initial batch of 50; there had to be a way of figuring out which one she'd taken through process of elimination. Fighting down his fear for her, he concentrated on the task at hand; checking off names until there was only one left, for which no file was present. _That's gotta be the one she took. _He looked at the name, but it rang no particular bells for him. Ruiz, Manuel. _Who the hell is this guy, and why does Eames need to take his file home? _Closing his eyes, he tried to envision the file he'd looked at not too long ago. What had caught his attention about Mr. Ruiz? Drug dealer, recently paroled after serving time for something; what was it?

He went back to his desk and fired up his laptop; though Eames was usually the driver of both the car and the computer, he could certainly manage a basic search. Ruiz, Manuel. He waited impatiently for the results, scrolling through until he found what he was looking for, then bringing it up on the screen. _Okay, yeah, this face is familiar; I looked at it before. Drug dealer, paroled late September, after serving time for…what? File blocked? What the hell is going on here? _Reading further, Bobby tried to figure out why so much of this common criminal's file had been redacted, even electronically. His memory of the file returned; the redaction was why he'd pulled it out in the first place. It was rare to see an NYPD file so covered in black. No address, no family information, no nothing. After searching every page available to him, and stubbornly trying to get into even the ones that were blocked, he finally found one interesting and disturbing piece of information. _Refer all inquiries to…now, that can't be right. _

His frustration had reached epic heights by this point; there were few things that would drive Robert Goren over the edge more than a lack of information, and in this particular case, he was being denied it by those who usually provided to him without question. It was time to find out why.

Mentally apologizing to Eames for what he was about to do, he hit the print button, grabbed the profile and shoved it into his portfolio, and ran for the door. She could have her alone time, for now; he had work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

The couple stared longingly into each others' eyes, bodies moving in time to the music and to each others' rhythms, so long known and cherished. With a devilish glint in his eye, he spun her across the room during a particularly intense passage; almost out of control, but not quite. Dipping her deeply, he brought his lips close to hers, and was just about to seal the deal when, as fate would have it, the doorbell rang.

And rang.

And now there was knocking.

Loud, insistent knocking.

He sighed. Clearly, whoever this was wasn't going away. Bringing her back to her feet, he snuck in a quick kiss. "I'll be right back, honey. I just need to kill the overly aggressive salesman."

"Ooohh, a salesman. Tell him to come back when you're not here."

Walking towards the door, he glared at her over his shoulder. "You're funny."

"Who says I'm joking?"

"Ha ha," he grumbled, opening the door to reveal, "Bobby?"

"Captain Deakins, I'm sorry to bother you at home, but it's important. C-can I come in?"

"Of course, Bobby, " he said, stepping back to let the larger man pass. "But it's Jimmy now, okay?"

"Huh? Oh, okay. Hi, Mrs. Deakins." Bobby tried to remember to be polite, though his mind was racing in a thousand different directions.

"Hello, Bobby," she smiled warmly, leaning up to kiss his scruffy cheek. "And it's Angie, please."

"Okay, Mrs…Angie." He tried to return her smile.

"Where's your better half?"

"I-I'm sorry, what?"

She laughed softly, "Where's Alex, Bobby?"

"Oh, um, Eames? She's um, she's home," he answered, shuffling his feet like a kid waiting for punishment.

Deakins, who'd been observing this little exchange and Bobby's discomfort with no small amount of concern, asked, "In the middle of the day? Is she okay?" His brow furrowed, watching the big detective process the question and try to come up with an answer. _Oh, please let Alex not be losing it after the Gage ordeal. That would be a disaster; for her, for Bobby, for me. _His fondness for Alex Eames was well-known; she reminded him a lot of his younger sister; tough as nails with a loyal streak a mile wide and deep. _God help us all if she falls; I don't know if anyone is strong enough to catch them both. _Seeing that this was a serious issue, he turned to his wife. "Honey? Do you mind letting Bobby and I talk in private?"

Years of marriage had made his expression easy to read. Angie crossed over to him and kissed his cheek. "Of course not, Jimmy. Bobby, please come visit again soon, and bring Alex with you, okay?" She patted Bobby's shoulder as she exited. It was like touching steel, and she saw that her husband's concern was not unwarranted, but at the same time she was proud that her husband was the kind of man even his former detectives came to when there was trouble.

Deakins indicated that Bobby should sit on the sofa, and sat next to him, worry evident on his face. "What's going on? Is Alex okay?"

Bobby ran a hand through his hair. "I-I don't know, Cap…Jimmy. Do you know anything about Manuel Ruiz?"

Deakins stood up quickly. "How the hell did you hear that name, Bobby?"

"I d-didn't hear it. We were working on developing suspects for the murder of a major drug lord, and his was one of the files. When I handed it to Eames, she freaked out and ran out of the room. At her desk, I heard her yelling at someone on the phone, and then she took the file and went home. I-I tried to look up some information in the computer, and the only thing I can find is 'refer all inquiries to James Deakins, so that's what I'm, um, that's what I'm doing. So tell me…who the hell is this guy, and why does Eames care?"

The former captain's expression was steely. "It's not possible for him to be a suspect, Bobby, he's in jail."

Rifling through his portfolio, Bobby handed over the profile he'd printed off the computer. "No, he's not. He got paroled in late September, Jimmy. Why aren't you answering my questions?"

Jimmy, whose stomach had knotted itself into a pretzel at the sound of the word 'parole,' took a moment to figure out how to address the issue with Goren. Much as he cared about the big detective, he wasn't the issue at the moment, and Jimmy knew he needed to get to Alex and try and help her - quickly. Playing his trump card, he asked, "Bobby, do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Do you trust Alex?"

"YES."

"Then trust me when I say that I can't tell you anything until I talk to her, and I will only tell you what you want to know if she says its okay. Let me go talk to her."

Bobby sprang off the couch and began pacing like a tiger in its cage. "She's my partner, Jimmy. If something is this important to her, I need to know about it."

Deakins sighed, "I agree. But since she hasn't told you about it yet, I can't be the one to break a promise to her. Do you understand that?"

Defeated, Bobby nodded. "Yes. If you promised her something, you have to keep the promise. You can't let her down." Looking at the carpet, feeling shame that there was something his partner felt she couldn't tell him, he was surprised to find his former captain's hand on his shoulder.

"Bobby, I will do my best to get her to talk to you, okay? That's my promise to you. Where and when can I reach you?"

Bobby looked up. "It's Eames, Jimmy. You can reach me anytime. I'll keep the cell on. And when you talk to her, can you tell her…tell her…I'm here if she needs me."

Jimmy smiled. "I know that, and I'd bet money she does too, but I'll tell her."

Bobby collected his things and left, not before eliciting yet another promise from Jimmy to keep him in the loop. He felt completely disoriented, as if some tiny shift in the universe had just pulled the solid ground from beneath his feet. _Eames is in trouble, and I can't help her because she won't let me._

He had never felt so alone.

**A/N - I should have mentioned in the first chapter that this story takes place during Season 6, but will not follow the events of those episodes. And I still don't own anything. Dammit.**


	3. Chapter 3

Alex stared at the bottle in front of her on the coffee table, then at her glass. _Well, clearly there's an imbalance here. I'll need to correct that. _And so she did, refilling her glass with the expensive cognac he had loved, and setting the bottle back down in its place atop the file.

That file.

That thing's file.

Even with the redactions, she remembered the contents by heart. It was now 30, she knew, and had achieved its freedom by citing good behavior and familial need.

And no one had been there to stop it.

She hadn't been available. That's what her contact had told her; the date of release hadn't really struck her until that moment.

_I wasn't available to stop it._

_I was otherwise occupied._

In the moments when she could think logically, she had to give its slick lawyer credit, if solely on ability to capitalize on an opportunity. He had picked the perfect moment for his "emergency" application, when she was sure to be incapable of adding her voice, strong and sure, to the proceedings.

_It must be nice to have no conscience, _she thought as she filled her glass again. _Maybe a few more of these and I'll know what that feels like._

_Wouldn't that be beautiful?_

She knows in her gut that this is just a fantasy, one of many that have gripped her imagination today. But she's been around the block more times than she can count, and it just isn't possible for her to live in that world; where actions have no consequences and wishing makes it so.

_There isn't enough cognac in the world for that. _If it weren't so fucking depressing, it might be funny.

There is enough cognac in her, though, to allow her to again indulge in some of her earlier flights of fancy.

She pictures herself running to her father, putting her head in his lap and crying it out like she did as a little girl, when Seamus Coughlin from down the block called her a shrimp and she punched him, sending him crying to his mother, who had proceeded to bitch her out thoroughly, calling her a 'little hooligan' in the process. And her Dad would understand, just as he did when he realized that it was the word 'little' rather than 'hooligan' that had upset her. And he would comfort her with kind words and ice cream, and everything would be okay.

She knew it was a fantasy because the thought of dealing with her father's emotions about this situation on top of her own made her sick to her stomach. He had been devastated at his inability to either protect or ease her pain from the harsh realities of the job, and it had seriously shaken his confidence that she was unable to bring her pain to him for soothing. There was to be no running to Daddy this time.

Next, she dreamt of running to him, venting her frustrations the way she used to after a tough day, and having him commiserate, and comfort her clothes right off her. That was one to make her smile fondly, remembering both the way things were with him, and the way they were with her, too.

But that was certainly a fantasy, because if that were possible, she wouldn't be in this state to begin with.

Time for another refill. If she had enough she could pretend her hands were shaking from the alcohol.

And then she let her mind wander to the vision that had plagued her from the moment she'd read the words. She'd run to him, and he would do whatever she needed; take care of it for her, watch her take care of it and then swear she was somewhere else, far away, or just listen to her and coolly analyze the situation, half-smiling as she nodded her assent, until she fell happily into her role as touchstone and could function again.

And this one was haunting because this one could be real, but making it so required that she let go of one thing and grab hold tightly to another, and she wasn't sure if she could do that yet. The fact that she still stocked cognac could be perceived as evidence of wounds yet unhealed, but the way her thoughts were tracking seemed to indicate a certain…willingness to embrace a new idea.

_I'm not ready yet._

_But almost._

The doorbell rang, as she had known it would. She knew who it would be, too. Years of observation had led her, when still sober, to the logical course of action that would transpire after her abrupt departure.

She'd been waiting.

Well, drinking and waiting.

She got up to answer the door.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Jimmy Deakins waited impatiently outside his former detective's door; he knew she was inside, but also knew that she was unlikely to be in the mood for company, even his, which she usually welcomed. He and Angie had been here many times for dinner, and their daughters enjoyed visiting as well.

He and Alex had formed a bond early in her career at Major Case; she had come in with a reputation as a bad-ass detective from Vice (true) who may or may not have gotten the MCS assignment as a consolation prize for losing her husband (false – the brass had spotted her leadership potential early and her career had been on the upswing regardless). Jimmy had seen her embarrassment at being treated like a victim, and had made it his business both to treat Alex with utmost respect and quell any rumors that she had gotten to her rank by any means other than hard work.

She had appreciated his efforts, and in her quiet and unassuming way had repaid the kindness; by volunteering for, then excelling at, every tough assignment that came the squad's way, up to and including taking on as partner the new and decidedly unusual Detective Goren. For a long time, only Jimmy had known what that had cost her; prior to Goren's arrival, Alex Eames had been MCS' superstar detective, and it had been very easy for some (read: men she had cut dead with one snarky comment) to forget that she was an excellent and intuitive investigator in her own right. They were blinded by Goren's flashier methods, but Jimmy knew (and made sure that both Goren and Eames knew he knew) that much of both the legwork and the strategy came from Alex.

It worked for them; both had stellar solve rates before they were partnered, but their joint solve rate was phenomenal. And Jimmy knew, too, that despite her disdain for the underlying sexism, Alex was content to be out of the spotlight after having been the center of much attention surrounding her husband's death. In his opinion, Alex Eames was never meant to be a soloist; she flourished as part of a team.

Jimmy remembered meeting Alex and her then-husband Joe at a PBA event, and remarking to Angie that they were NYPD's golden couple; each successful in their own right; both of them attractive, witty, and charming. They had the glow of two young people madly in love and lust, and it had been wonderful to see and bask in.

He remembered, too, Alex' gray and drawn face at Joe's funeral; the rumors (true) that she had declined all widow's benefits and requested that the funds be redeposited for those who were financially dependent on their fallen spouse, and her quiet and powerful pride. Knowing that her tour of duty with Vice was drawing to a close, he had requested her for Major Case, not out of sympathy, but intrigue. He needed tough, intelligent and poised detectives for his team, and Alex had never let him down on any count.

Hearing her approach the door, he doubted that poised could be applied to her tonight, but he hoped she was tough enough to face the road ahead.

He prayed that once again, she wouldn't let him down.


	4. Chapter 4

Flinging open the door with an abandon she didn't really feel, Alex was unsurprised to see Jimmy Deakins at her threshold.

She took a deep breath before exclaiming, mock-cheerfully, "Hey, Captain! Come on in!"

Taking in the scene with a practiced eye, Jimmy noted the bottle resting on a file, and he knew which file that had to be. Redirecting his attention to Alex, he saw the slight glassiness in her eyes; she was a bit unkempt and not entirely steady on her feet, but seemed to be maintaining. It amused him to think that Goren wouldn't have needed the visual clues; the smell of cognac, while not overpowering, was certainly present. Bobby would, very likely, have ascertained it from the driveway.

Sitting down at Alex' gesture, he declined her offer of a drink, and simply observed as she sat on the couch; just a foot or so away, but with her mind clearly elsewhere. Speaking gently, he indicated the file. "So you know."

She nodded.

"Bobby came to me."

"I figured he would," she said softly. "Leave it to Bobby to be unable to leave anything alone." She almost smiled, but her facial muscles wouldn't allow it.

Jimmy sighed, "Well, I checked it out, and it's true. The little scumbag's lawyer filed an emergency application the day after you were kidnapped. The notice was sent to your house."

"I never got it," Alex whispered. "I would have gone, regardless of what any doctor said, but I never got it."

Jimmy nodded, "I know that, Alex. It's sitting in an evidence bag downtown. It took a couple of days for the CSU guys to process this place, and they took the mail as well, in case Jo Gage posed an ongoing threat. I think they just assumed that any Notice To Appear would be null and void, since…"

With a mirthless chuckle, Alex finished, "since everybody and their brother, and their fucking lawyer, knew about the kidnapping. Except, apparently, for the parole board."

Jimmy ran a hand through his hair. The combination of his own frustration and hers, palpable in the room, made him antsy. "They didn't make the connection; when you didn't show, they assumed it was because you didn't have anything to add, not because you hadn't been notified." By force of will he kept his seat, hoping that his outward calm would help her maintain hers.

It was not to be.

In a flash, she was on her feet, face red and eyes blazing with anger. "Nothing to ADD? For three years, every since that thing first tried to get out, I have dragged my ass upstate and humiliated myself by crying in front of these people, just so it would STAY where IT BELONGS!" She was shaking outright now, the tears that Jimmy felt privileged to be one of the few people to ever see threatening to overflow.

Speaking as soothingly as he could, Jimmy said, "I know, Alex, and I have made sure that the board knows as well. Believe me, they are aware of how badly they've screwed up here." Pleading with his eyes, he asked, "Do you think you could sit down now?"

Regaining a bit of her composure at his look, Alex nodded, then sat down beside him, her eyes still brimming.

"Can they do anything to fix it, Jimmy? Ruiz killed a COP; didn't that mean anything to them?"

Tentatively, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "It means a lot, Alex, and more importantly, it means a lot to people much smarter than the board members, and those people are the ones who will help us fix it."

Almost whining, she asked, "But how did it even happen? How could they let him go?"

Jimmy let out his breath in a huff of frustration and anger. "His lawyer is very good, that's how. He based his application on Ruiz' age at the time of the murder, his perfect prison record and the usual discovery of God, and the fact that his wife and child are on welfare without him providing them an income."

"Income?" she snorted. "The only thing Ruiz has ever made a living at was selling drugs to kids. Doesn't the board realize he'll just go back to that?"

Nodding, Jimmy sighed, "They did suspect that, which is why they set up a rigorous probation program. But…"

Fear cut through Alex' remaining alcohol haze like a knife. In a low tone, almost inaudibly, she asked, "But what?"

Dreading what he had to say, Jimmy struggled to keep his voice even. "But he's missed his last two check-ins. There's an APB going out for him as we speak, and he will go back to prison when he's caught."

"IF he's caught," she spat angrily. Rising again, she began to pace, her heart rate skyrocketing. "Do you think he's going to come after me, Jimmy? I had a lot to do with his conviction, and with his previous parole requests being denied. He may very well have…issues with me." Even to herself, Alex' voice sounded high and strained. _I can't do this again. I'm just starting to not be afraid of every noise in the night. I can't live my life in fear. _

Jimmy rose to his feet and stopped her meanderings with strong hands on her shoulders. Leaning down slightly to look into her eyes, he said, "Listen to me, Alex. I have already spoken to Ross, and if we need to put a 24-hour guard on you, that's what we'll do. Ruiz will NOT be permitted to hurt you, I can promise you that."

Disbelieving, she stared at him. "Hurt ME? You think THAT's what I'm afraid of, Jimmy? Understand this: if that piece of shit comes within a mile of me, he is a DEAD man. I don't care if I go to prison, I don't care what happens, but if I see even a glimpse of him, he's DONE." She pulled away forcefully and stormed off to the kitchen, running cold water and splashing it on her face. _I will NOT live in fear. But he better._

Now even more concerned than when he'd walked in the door, Jimmy was at a loss. _I'm not the one she needs to help her with this. I need to convince her to let him in. _Following her to the kitchen, he was touched by how small she appeared, leaning on the kitchen counter, desperately attempting to breathe. Keeping a safe distance, he spoke gently, "Alex, whether you like it or not, we're going to need to keep you safe from Ruiz, and keep you from doing something I know you would regret, whether you think so or not. I want you to let me…"

"NO."

Angered at her outright dismissal, he spoke in a harsh tone she'd never heard before, "Alexandra Eames, you need help. And he needs to help you; whether you care at this moment what he needs or not, you do most of the time, so think about it. Get your head out of your ASS for a minute. You can help each other, and I want you to let me call him and get him over here." More gently, he added, "Alex, I really think it's the best thing for you, and I know why you're resisting it. But would Joe really want to see you like this?"

Shocked, she turned her tear-stained face to him, eyes wide. Tearfully, she answered, "No, he wouldn't. He would understand, but he wouldn't like it."

Deciding that paternal firmness was the way to go, Jimmy said strongly, "Can I take that as a yes, Alex?"

She took a deep breath. _Ready or not…_

"Call him."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N – My thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing – I'm thrilled you like this story. It's my first attempt at an actual, you know, plot, so your comments are much appreciated. And by the way, I own nothing, though I did get some Silly String for Christmas, so if you sue me, I'll string ya.**

Bobby stared at his cell phone, hoping that by sheer force of will he could make it ring.

Nothing doing; the cell phone, unlike most suspects, was in fact able to resist his will.

For approximately the tenth time in the last hour, he checked that his ringer was on, his battery was charged, and his bars were all present and accounted for. Upon ascertaining that it was not technology standing in the way, he stared at the phone again. _Maybe I'm wearing it down._

Silence. _Maybe not._

He felt a lot like he did when he was a teenager, waiting for "that girl" to return his call, and couldn't help but chuckle at the ironic aptness of that particular analogy.

Eames is "that girl", all right. Prom queen, popular, even (she had once admitted after a rough case had led to two pitchers of Guinness and much hilarity) a cheerleader. When he had evidenced surprise at that information, she had slurred, "Top of the pyramid, baby," which was the closest he'd ever come to choking to death. (Note – Guinness is not nearly as pleasant coming out one's nose as it is going down one's throat). While he recalled the moment with a fond smile, he also remembered that, for all she'd revealed that night, it had served only to deepen the mystery of her.

Bobby had a hard time reconciling in his mind the teenaged, miniskirt-wearing (and God alone knew what _that _image had done to his…psyche), apparently peppy Eames with the nurturing but highly cynical woman he knew and…_well, let's think about that later. _Something happened to her on the road of life that changed her; made her no less caring, but somehow created that strong and seemingly impenetrable armor of hers.

Bobby certainly understood how traumatic events can shape your personality, but he'd always felt that those events in his life had left him more outwardly vulnerable, rather than less, as seemed to be the case for Eames. He knew her husband had been killed a few years before he met her, but Eames was a cop, too; she'd known the risks of marrying one. He couldn't imagine that, with her intelligence and intuition, she'd been so damaged by something she had to have at least suspected was a possibility. Something more was at work here; there was a piece of the puzzle missing, and being a good, maybe even great, detective, Bobby had a strong hunch that whatever was going on now had to do with that missing piece.

Strangely, for all their closeness, Bobby had never felt comfortable broaching the subject of her husband's death with Eames; the topic seemed, somehow, to be very specifically off-limits to him. He knew what was common knowledge; that his name had been Joseph Shea, and that he'd been killed in trying to stop a crime in progress. More than that, no one had told Bobby, despite both hints and outright questions; even Deakins shut him down at the mention of the topic.

Bobby felt that, to Eames, it was as if talking about her husband with him was a betrayal of some kind; of whom, he wasn't sure. He knew that had Joseph lived, it was unlikely Eames would have been assigned to Major Case; she would obviously still have been qualified for the assignment, but would probably have wanted a position with more regular hours. He suspected, from idle (or maybe not so idle, now that he thought about it) comments she'd made while pregnant with her nephew, that the couple had been planning a family, and certainly that would have required Eames to slow down a little.

It was funny; when she had gone on maternity leave, he had been miserable, but when she'd returned, he'd felt almost guilty for being so happy. There was reason to believe that had her husband lived, Eames would never have been his partner, and as much as he hated himself for it, Bobby couldn't help but be at least a little grateful for the way things had turned out. Not that he didn't want Eames to be happy; he did, and would gladly turn back the clock for her if he could, but if Joseph were here, Eames would belong to him and not to Bobby.

_God, I'm a selfish bastard. But she does belong to me, now, even if she doesn't know it, even if she hates me for it. She's my Eames, and I will take care of her, because without her, I would be…well, let's think about that later, too._

Turn to cell phone. Stare. Check ringer. Check reception. Check battery. Check volume. Stare more. Sigh.

In a rush, his fear for her came back. _What the hell happened today?_ In all the years he'd known her, he'd seen Eames be angry, cynical, playful, determined, and even sad, but he'd never seen her defeated. The look on her face had nearly ripped Bobby's heart in two – he'd wanted to take her up in his arms and hold her close, soothing her, and scaring away whatever pain had dared to come near her. And deep inside, he knew that _this_ was why she'd run away from him, why discussing her husband was verboten, why that piece of the puzzle had remained missing for so long. _I know. She knows. And each of us knows the other knows. So, well, we'll think about that later._

Loath as he was to admit it, even to himself, it might just have gotten to later when he wasn't looking.

When he was honest with himself, Bobby knew that in fact, Eames was "that girl" for him. He had long ago realized that she held an important place in his heart, and he couldn't, and didn't want to, imagine his life without her. And when he was _really_ honest with himself, he knew, too, that he didn't want to imagine her life with someone else. The problem was that while he knew, and at least strongly suspected that she knew, too, he'd never told her; every time he tried, he sensed that missing piece of the puzzle moving between them.

But lately, especially since the Jo Gage nightmare, Bobby had started to feel a sense of hope, as if gears were turning and things were getting ready to fall into place.

_She's not ready yet. _

_But almost._

Until today. Today he'd seen her walls assemble around her almost as a physical action. She had been there, with him, and then she was gone, and a great deal of his current frustration had to do with the fact that going backwards, reversing those gears, was no longer possible for him.

_I'm too far gone now. One way or another, things are going to change._

His phone rang.


	6. Chapter 6

He knocked on the door, feeling his heart pounding at twice the rate of his fist's contact with wood. For all his anxiety in waiting for this moment, now that it had arrived, he was terrified. Whatever he was to learn about Eames tonight was big, and he hoped he'd have the strength to be what she needed. He was somewhat comforted by the sight of Deakins' car in her driveway; at least they'd have an initial buffer. The words Jimmy had used on the phone were clear.

_Come now. She's ready._

And so, he thought, whether that was true or not, he had to be ready too. He straightened his spine as Jimmy answered the door and ushered him in.

Without thinking, he sniffed the air, and asked automatically, "Cognac?"

Jimmy smirked, and even Eames made a halfhearted attempt at a snort before handing over the dollar in her hand to her former captain. "You win," she said, "I must be off my game to have ever bet against that nose."

Though Bobby didn't really understand what had just transpired, he did notice that some of the tension in the room was eased, and for that, he was grateful. She was sitting on her couch, and summoning his courage, he walked over to her and knelt in front of her. "Are you okay, Eames?"

"Well, I'm a dollar poorer, thanks to you, but I'm all right for the moment." She was having a hard time meeting his eyes, and focusing slightly behind him, she asked, " Do, uh, do you want something to drink, Bobby?"

Glancing at Jimmy, who gave a slight nod, Bobby said, "Sure, Eames. But don't get up. I'll get it myself." He took the chance to breathe deeply while grabbing a bottle of water out of her refrigerator. His nervousness had dissipated to some degree, but he couldn't help feeling that this night was a test for him; of how much he cared about Eames, and how well he would understand what she needed, even if she were unable to tell him. _Please, God, I know I don't talk to you very often, but please let me have whatever it is that will help her. Please don't let me fail her. She's never failed me._

When he returned to the living room, Deakins was sitting next to Eames, and one of them had cleared her coat and work stuff off of a large armchair. Bobby correctly interpreted the clues, and sat down, facing his partner and the man he would always think of as his captain. In front of him on the coffee table, facing him, was the file that had started this whole mess in the first place. Picking it up, he looked over at Eames, and didn't miss her slight wince. Deciding to dive right in, he asked, "So who is Manuel Ruiz?"

Momentarily unable to speak, Eames pleaded wordlessly with Jimmy, who quickly stepped in. "Bobby, Manuel Ruiz is the man who killed Joseph Shea."

Though he had suspected as much, hearing it out loud made Bobby wince visibly as well. "Oh. Wait a minute. And he's OUT of prison? How in the hell did that happen?"

His voice was rising until he looked over at his partner, who had flinched away from the noise. _Be what she needs. _In a considerably gentler tone, he asked Jimmy, "This scumbag got parole?"

Surprisingly, it was Eames who answered, "Look at the date, Bobby." She looked over at him with blazing eyes, hoping…no, knowing that he would feel exactly as she did about this. His face paled when he made the connection, and his eyes naturally sought hers in the hope of giving and receiving comfort. He was not disappointed. She seemed to sit up a little straighter when meeting his gaze, and he knew now that what she needed was for him to understand her rage, without giving in to his own. _It's my turn to be the calm strong one; for her, I can do it._

His eyes never leaving hers, he spoke in a soft but unwavering voice. "This should never have happened. What are we going to do to fix it?" He could have cried at the gratitude in her face, and was rewarded with a beautiful smile from her. She knew now that her fantasy had been accurate, knew that he would be what she needed, would help bring her back to herself. In a moment, their eyes told each other everything they needed to know. And it was good. Scary as hell, but good.

Jimmy watched this exchange with no small amount of fascination and admiration. _Well, that's all right, then. _Leaning over to Alex, who was still staring at Bobby, he softly kissed her cheek, and standing, asked, "Is it okay if I go home now?"

She looked up at him with a thankful smile, and nodded. "Yeah, Jimmy, we're going to be okay now. Thank you so much." She stood to hug him, and he took the opportunity to whisper in her ear, "I told you so, Alex." Not letting him go, she whispered back, "Bite me, captain."

He chuckled; that was a lot more like the Alex Eames he knew, and it was comforting to have things return to almost-normal. Releasing her, he leaned over to shake Bobby's hand. "Ross is aware of the situation, and obviously you're both off the case since Ruiz is a suspect, but you should call him at some point tomorrow to discuss when you'll come back to work."

Puzzled, Bobby asked, "Are we off-duty tomorrow?"

Jimmy nodded, "You are now. Ross wants the two of you to take a few days to sort this all out. It was suggested to him that it would be a good time for a break."

Understanding, Bobby smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Jimmy. For everything."

Jimmy smiled at him. "That's what friends are for, Bobby. Alex, please call me tomorrow and let me know how you are. Angie and I would love to have the both of you over for dinner sometime soon, okay? The girls love to see their cool detective aunt."

Alex returned his smile, "That's a date, Jimmy. I'll speak to you tomorrow."

Deakins left, feeling considerably better than when he'd arrived. When he had been Eames and Goren's captain, a situation like this would have given him an ulcer, but now that he could be just their friend, he was happy to see them moving closer to one another. _For all our crap about fraternization, who could deny two people who've given so much something like this in return? They deserve it. She deserves it. _

_And I don't have to deal with the brass about it. _He almost laughed out loud.

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Alone, Bobby and Alex looked at each other again, continuing their silent conversation; it had been like this with them for a while, but neither had ever given in to it so fully before. It was frightening, but exhilarating, seeing everything in someone else's eyes meet and accept everything in your own.

It seemed like an eternity that they just looked at one another, until Alex finally spoke. "Bobby? Will you do me a favor?"

Still entranced by the openness of her eyes, he simply nodded before whispering, "Whatever you want."

"Take me for a drive?"

He nearly choked, "I'm sorry, you want **me** to drive?"

Snorting, she reminded him, "Uh, cognac, Mr. Bloodhound?"

_Oh yeah. _Taking her car keys, he helped her on with her coat, noticing but not remarking upon the small box she grabbed from her hall table. "So where are we going, Eames?"

Looking up at him, she smiled. "There's someone I want you to meet."

**A/N – Happy New Year! My resolution this year is to be as good a reader and reviewer as those of you who've been so kind to me, and whose comments are so helpful to improving my writing. My thanks to you all, and wishes for a wonderful, happy, and healthy 2007. And a new Goren/Eames episode soon, for the love of Pete. Hear me, Mr. Wolf? SOON. Arrgghh.**


	7. Chapter 7

They drove most of the way in a comfortable silence, Eames occasionally giving quiet directions, which Bobby followed without comment. Once in a while, when he was sure she wasn't looking, he'd glance over at her. She seemed to be deep in thought, but there was the hint of a smile on her face, and that was good enough for him.

After about 30 minutes of silence, directing, and surreptitious glancing, they reached their destination, and when Bobby saw the sign, he understood in a flash their purpose this night.

Cedar Grove Cemetery

Due to the late hour, Bobby thought that perhaps the gate was as far as they'd get, but Eames gave him a code to enter on the security keypad, and the gate rolled back to allow their entry, slowly closing behind them. Again, she gave quiet and concise directions, and shortly they were parked in front of a slight rise in the landscaping, where a large marker bore the name Shea.

Deciding that letting her take the lead was his best course of action, Bobby simply sat still while she collected herself. He thought that perhaps he understood a little bit of how she must be feeling; the first time he'd brought her to meet his mother, they'd sat in the parking lot at Carmel Ridge for a good 15 minutes before he could summon the courage to take her inside. It was hard, this letting someone into the more painful areas of your life; there was a fear of scaring them away, as if your baggage might be too much to cope with. Realizing that she needed his assurance, he reached his hand over and laid it on top of hers. She turned to him with a small and grateful smile, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before opening her door and exiting the car.

He was surprised when she hopped right back in and started rooting around in the glove compartment. Holding up a flashlight, she smiled gain. "We're going to need this."

He followed her sure steps up the small hill to a marker towards the back of the plot. With slightly shaky hands, she illuminated the words on the headstone so he could read:

Joseph Michael Shea

November 10, 1965 – July 5, 1999

Devoted Son

Beloved Husband

"Do not go gentle into that good night"

"Dylan Thomas," he said softly, and was a bit taken aback when she let out a chuckle. Leaning closer, she whispered, "Irish poet who drank himself to death; not entirely appropriate, but Joe loved him, so I got his parents to agree."

She aimed the beam of the flashlight to their left, where he could just make out the double headstone nearby. "They were good people," she said quietly. "I miss them."

With a shakier voice, she said, "And he did not go gentle. I didn't want anyone to forget that."

The spare light from her flashlight didn't allow him the luxury of looking into her eyes, nor she his, so he simply placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder. He felt her relax slightly, then she asked, "Is it too cold for you?"

The night was crisp, but they were dressed warmly enough, so he answered, "No." Grabbing his hand, she gently pulled him to the ground to sit next to her, opening the small box she'd been clutching to her chest since they'd left her house, revealing a photo album. Handing him the flashlight to hold, she began to show him the snapshots of her life with this man whose grave they sat beside.

"This was when we met." A college-age Eames with unbelievably long hair stood next to Joe, who was a rather compact man, no more than six inches taller than his future wife. Bobby had seen an academy photo, and recognized the youthful face with its blue eyes and dark blonde hair, but the height surprised him. He'd always thought (wishfully, perhaps) that Eames liked tall men, though he supposed the wear and tear on her neck muscles, not to mention her feet, had been less with Joe.

"Where is that?" he asked quietly.

"John Jay. He was a year ahead of me in the master's program in criminal justice. I…are you okay to hear this?"

"Yes," he assured her, "I want to hear it. It's about you."

"I was crazy about him the minute I saw him. He had so much energy and fire, and he never let me get over on him, but he treated me with respect, you know?"

"As well he should," Bobby said softly. While he wanted to hear the story, he couldn't help his pang of jealousy towards this man who'd earned the attention of a beautiful young Eames. He fought it down. _Be what she needs._

Turning the page, Eames said, "This was his graduation from the academy." In this photo, Joe had the shorn cut of a young NYPD recruit, and Eames had cut her long locks into a closer approximation of the style she now wore. They had their arms wrapped around each other, and her smile shone with pride.

Next page. "And mine." This time it was Eames in crisp new dress blues, and Joe wore a suit, as if he'd understood that this was her day and his uniform might draw attention away from her. His proud smile matched hers from the last photo.

Next page, and her voice grew softer, "This was our wedding day." Bobby nearly laughed, as the very long and fancy white dress was the last thing he'd imagined his Eames wearing. Hearing his breath hitch, she sent an elbow into his ribs. "Shut up, Goren. It made my mother very happy."

"You…you made a beautiful couple." He felt rather than saw her smile at that. "We did, didn't we? We took a lot of shit for that at work; for a while, I kept this picture in my desk rather than on it, to avoid hearing the Ken and Barbie comments." He chuckled. "You are many things, Eames, but I would never think to compare you to Barbie."

"Well, this is why I like you," she said in a light tone.

Continuing to turn the pages, she showed him photos from family events. The situations blurred in his mind, but one thing stood out clearly. Eames and her husband had been very happy together; they were always smiling, touching. Bobby thought that he was beginning to understand why she had a hard time talking about this. _It must have destroyed her to lose this, lose him._

As if she'd read his mind, a gift he was fairly certain she possessed, she closed the photo album, placing her hand on his arm. "I need to tell you the next part, Bobby, but I'd rather not do it here. There's a diner about a mile away. W-would it be okay if we go there? I could use a coffee, anyway."

Murmuring his agreement, he stood, reaching his hands out to assist her to a standing position as well. He heard her take a deep, uncertain breath, and again, understood that she needed something from him. Leaning close enough that his lips brushed her cheek, he said, "Take as long as you need," and returned to the car to allow her some privacy.

He made every effort to keep his eyes focused on the steering wheel, but couldn't help but glance her way every so often. She seemed, from what little he could see of her, to be having a rather animated discussion with…well, with Joe, he supposed. He wondered how often she came out here to visit, and if she would bring him again. While he hated seeing her in pain, a part of him reveled in the insights he'd gained into who she was by learning who Joe had been. He was so lost in these thoughts that her entry into the car made him jump.

Though her face bore witness to the tears she'd recently shed, she managed a typical zinger, "Think I was a ghost, Goren?" and that made him feel better, somehow.

As they exited the cemetery, she again gave him directions to their destination. Quietly, she added, "I need to tell you how he died. It…I think it will make things make sense for you, Bobby. I hope, I mean I think, I hope it will be okay."

Turning to look at her shadowed face, he replied softly, "I'm sure it will be okay, and in my entire life, nothing has made more sense to me than being with you, no matter what the circumstances."

Her soft smile told him he'd said the right thing, and they drove together in the night.


	8. Chapter 8

The diner was almost completely empty, and featured the same fluorescent lighting found in a women's dressing room during swimsuit season, but the coffee was excellent and the waitress perceptive enough to leave them alone, so they were content.

After a few moments of enjoying the "ambience," Eames spoke. "It was a beautiful summer day, and we were both off-duty, which was pretty rare. We had slept in and eaten a late breakfast, and decided to go out for a walk, enjoy the weather."

She got lost in thought for a moment, and Bobby took the opportunity to interject, "I always thought it happened when he was working." _Sweet Jesus, she was there._

She nodded. "Most people assume that, because he did die in the line of duty. But it was our day off." He gave her a small nod of understanding, and she continued.

"We had had a big fight the night before, but we'd worked it out, and were kind of joking about having made our own fireworks in more ways than one." She laughed softly, a slight flush just touching her cheeks.

Sensing she needed his…approval, somehow, he smiled. "Can I ask, uh, what you were fighting about?"

Unable for a moment to meet his eyes, she focused downward and said, "Kids. He wanted to start trying and I wanted to wait. I was hoping to get out of Vice soon, and wanted to get settled in a new squad first. After all, we had all the time in the world, right?" She laughed bitterly, but when she finally raised her eyes to meet his gaze, found only acceptance there, and her expression softened a bit.

Bobby asked softly, "He got angry with you because you wanted to wait?"

She shook her head. "No, he was just hoping that if I got pregnant it would end my days at Vice, and man, did he hate that I got that assignment. Joe was an enlightened man, Bobby, and he always treated me as an equal, but no man likes to see his wife served up as bait for perverts. He got frustrated at the shit I had to deal with, he thought having a baby would end it, and he thought I was just being stubborn when I said no."

While he understood why Eames had wanted to wait, Bobby had to agree with Joe about her Vice duty. As her partner, he certainly appreciated the experience she'd gained there, and frequently took great pleasure at watching people's reactions when some of her expressions from those days came out of her mouth, but as her…as a man, the thought of her being treated like a piece of meat, even to protect and serve, made his blood pressure rise.

When he looked up, she was watching him with an amused smirk on her face. "Men are all alike," she laughed, "but for the most part, I liked working Vice. We had a good team, and I was able, on occasion, to enjoy the hell out of the look on a perp's face when I showed him my badge."

"Riiiight," Bobby snorted, "you just didn't like the shoes."

"Yeah, the shoes sucked," she agreed, "but I looked hot in leather. Still do, as a matter of fact."

She nearly burst out laughing at the sudden downward mobility of Bobby's jaw at that statement. Alex was proud to be one of the few people with the ability to shock Robert Goren, and she delighted in it. The break in tension gave her a chance to breathe for a minute before continuing.

"Anyway, we'd made up the fight and were just strolling around when we decided we needed a beer, and stopped at a little bodega on Beach Channel."

"To drink on the street?" Bobby asked. "That's illegal, Eames."

"We were cops, Bobby; no one was going to give us a ticket."

"Right," he answered. "Sorry."

Her voice became softer, and he had to lean in to hear.

"I had cash on me, so I went inside to buy the beer while Joe waited outside. There was a group of kids hanging around on the corner before I went in; I'd seen them, but didn't notice anything strange, but when I came out, most of them were running, really fast, in all different directions. Then I saw Joe; he was talking really softly to this…young man, who had a gun pointed at one of the kids, who was maybe 12 and petrified. Joe didn't have his gun drawn or anything; he was just talking." She paused, taking some deep breaths to calm herself, and Bobby reached a hand across the table to encompass one of hers.

Almost at a whisper, he asked, "Ruiz?"

She nodded. "Apparently the kid he had drawn on was supposed to be selling to his friends, not just hanging out with them. The kid didn't want to sell anymore, and so R-Ruiz was going to just kill him, there on the street, until Joe stepped in."

Eames raised tearful eyes to Bobby. "You worked Narcotics for a while; you know what it's like."

He nodded, and sensed her need for a break. "What squad did Joe work on?"

She smiled. "Homicide. He loved it, too, wanted me to try and get transferred over after Vice. He was a good cop, Bobby, not a hothead, not one to shoot first and think later. He tried to use his intellect before his gun." With a gentle smile at him, she said, "I like that in a man."

Bobby returned her smile, wide and true, at what he knew to be a high compliment from this woman. "Thank you."

Sighing, she said, "I need to finish this. When I came out of the store and saw what was going on, I put the bag down as quietly as I could, and w-went for my gun." Tears overwhelmed her for a minute, and Bobby silently handed her a napkin to wipe her eyes.

"I went for my gun, but of course I-I didn't have it. When the two of us were together, only one of us carried, and that day Joe was, so I wasn't. I could just make out what he was saying to Ruiz; telling him that he shouldn't do this, it would ruin his life, but it was as if he was talking to a wall. There was no reaching him. Then Joe said, 'I'm a cop, and I can help you,' but the minute that piece of shit heard the word cop he turned and shot him in the head." She took another deep breath. "He was dead before he hit the ground, and he'd never even reached for his weapon. It happened so fast, and I didn't have a gun or Ruiz would have been dead. But all I could do was yell for the kid to run, and he did, into the store, before Ruiz could aim again."

"Joe saved that child's life," Bobby said. "He was a hero."

"Yes, he was, but I-I'm not done yet, Bobby, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered, squeezing her hand, both to assure her, and to remind himself that whatever had happened next, she was here and she was safe.

"Ruiz didn't have time to aim at the kid, but when I yelled, he turned and aimed at me. And I stood there, thinking that I didn't care, really, I just wanted to go to my husband and maybe I was wrong, he wasn't dead, so I did. I didn't run away, I didn't even think about it, I just went over to Joe, but…he was gone. And I was kneeling there with his blood all over me before I realized that Ruiz hadn't killed me."

Tears in his own eyes, Bobby asked, "What happened? Why didn't he shoot?"

"His cheap-ass gun jammed and he couldn't. That's it; he didn't have a sudden change of heart, not like he said later. He just couldn't fire, so he ran, like the lowlife he was. And is."

For a moment, Bobby couldn't speak; he needed to think and process, and he knew that Eames would understand that and not resent his silence. He thought back on all the times she had been impressively quick to get her weapon out when it looked like a suspect was going to draw on them, and it dawned on him that this ability of hers made more sense now. She had always been a faster and better shot than him; part of that was her natural agility, but she worked at it, too, spending hours on the firing range to keep her skills sharp. He had always assumed it was because someone of her size needed to keep her defenses strong; she couldn't overwhelm a perp the way he could, after all, but it was dawning on him now that the need for strong defenses ran much deeper for her.

Finally finding the composure to speak, he said, "I'm so sorry, Eames. To watch that happen; I can't even begin to imagine what…I can't tell you how glad I am that the gun jammed."

She managed a teary smile, and said, "Thank you. I'm glad I finally told you, Bobby. You deserve to know, especially with this guy out on the streets again. Deakins has been telling me for years to tell you, and I should have, I just…I didn't want you to feel sorry for me, you know? You need to trust your partner, not pity her."

He looked up, shocked. "I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone, Eames, not just as a partner, but as a friend, as a person. And I do feel pity for you, for what you had to go through, but not in a way that makes me think any less of you. If anything, I admire you more, knowing the things you've overcome."

Caressing his hand, she said, "I'm not sure I've fully overcome them, Bobby. The fact that this guy is out scares the shit out of me; not for what he'll do, but for what I might do."

In the strongest and calmest voice he could muster, Bobby replied, "Eames, you have no need to worry. I've got your back."

And looking at him, she knew it was true. With his support, perhaps now she could finally, truly put her past behind her.

She was ready.


	9. Chapter 9

Manuel Ruiz stood bug-eyed and sweating, facing off against his boss, which was, under any circumstances, a bad idea. But he was tweaking, and his chemical courage was fueled by both fear and rage.

"You gotta let me do it, man. That bitch cop deserves it – she put me in jail!"

The man eyed him coolly, thinking that dealers who got hooked on their own product were a double-edged sword; on the one hand, they were frequently out of control and unpredictable; on the positive side, they had very little in the way of conscience, and were entirely disposable. Were this methhead to fall off the face of the earth tomorrow, no one would miss him. Not his boss, not his so-called friends, and certainly not his wife, who he had needed to bribe generously for her testimony, which she only gave after he'd promised Manny would come nowhere near her and her child once he was out.

He spoke in a calm but unquestionably firm tone. "Manny, we have discussed this. I spent a great deal of time, energy and money to get you released, and I certainly didn't go to all that trouble for you to kill a cop and go right back to prison. Now, you've already taken care of the first part of your assignment; your work on Mr. Jones was excellent. But you're not finished, and I will not tolerate your losing your focus by worrying about Detective Eames. She is not going to be a problem."

Realizing that he'd overstepped his bounds, Ruiz made a visible effort to pull his shit together; the man before him was simply not someone to fuck with.

His boss smiled like a proud parent whose toddler has overcome a tantrum. "I'm so glad to see you're listening to reason, Manny. Why don't we sit down, and we can discuss our next steps."

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"Well, let's talk about our next steps. We need to investigate known associates, if we can find any." Captain Ross glanced over at Detective Mike Logan, who was perusing Goren and Eames' notes on the murder of one "Mr. Jones," a high-level drug dealer whose real name was unknown, even to NYPD. His fingerprints had revealed no criminal record, though, per the ME, there was severe scar tissue present on his palmar surface. At his level, it was likely "Mr. Jones" had done some chemical alterations on his skin, which would require a more sophisticated examination of the prints. Copies had been sent to the FBI crime lab, as even with chemical burning, essential classification elements should still be present and identifiable, with time. Ross hoped the process wouldn't take too long; this guy's anonymity meant investigating his murder would be complicated, and this case had already had its fair share of complications.

Curious as to why any of this was his problem, Mike asked, "How the hell did I get this case, anyway? Shouldn't this be an issue for Narcotics? Or better yet, Goren and Eames?"

Ross spoke sharply. "Narcotics passed it on to us because they don't want the appearance of any impropriety in the investigation. This guy was a major kingpin, and it might get out that Narcotics threw a party when his body was found. There's also about $20 million in drugs missing, that they're pretty sure this hump took delivery on, and since we handle the big ticket items, we got the case. As to Goren and Eames, be advised that I make case assignments on this squad, not you, Logan."

Undeterred by this admonishment, Mike went on, "But with Wheeler out sick, I'm without a partner, and this case looks like some serious shit."

Ross sighed, "You'll be working with Jeffries on this one, okay, Logan? Are you done complaining for the day?"

Mike considered this. "Nah, I doubt it."

"Great. Well, when you bring me your list of grievances, why don't you include an update on the case, just for fun. Get to work."

Walking to his office, Ross thought back on his conversation with Jimmy Deakins. The former captain of MCS had been very helpful in getting Ross briefed for his new assignment, even taking him to dinner and giving him the lowdown on the personalities of the detectives, and Deakins had called in that marker to get Eames and Goren a few days off to deal with the Ruiz matter.

Ross had been happy to reassign the case; no detective could be impartial under the circumstances, and he understood why Eames might need a break, but why Goren, too? Something in the tone of voice Deakins had used to answer that (_was it a chuckle I heard?)_ had him nervous.

_What's next?_

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"What could possibly be next?" Alex asked in a teasing tone. "The sordid tale of how the teddy bear at the American History Museum isn't really the original one, but a duplicate from the props department? From whence will I summon the strength to go on?"

Bobby came out of the kitchen for long enough to ask, "What do you want from me, Eames?"

"Better reading material?"

"Sorry, my subscription to Cosmo just ran out."

She stuck her tongue out at him, tossing aside the _Smithsonian_ she'd been attempting to read. How he read that shit and still had trouble sleeping she'd never know.

"FOOD," she announced loudly.

"I'm working on it," he grumbled, returning to the kitchen. "You could have eaten at the diner."

"No way. Then I would miss the pleasure of your home cooking, as promised."

"When did I promise that, exactly?"

"After the Tagman case. We were…upset with each other, and as your olive branch, you told me the next time I was I the mood for home cooked Italian, you'd cook for me."

"Eames, that was two years ago!"

She laughed. "I know. I held on to the marker for just the right moment."

"2:00 AM is the right moment?"

She snuck into the kitchen and put an arm around his waist to give him a small hug. "**This** is the right moment."

He smiled at her, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Yes it is. So refresh my memory – what was your olive branch to me after that case?"

She chuckled. "Well, since, as usual, you were wrong and I was right, mine was, you know, unspoken. There was one, though."

Laughing, he asked, "What was it? Have I collected on it yet?"

As she walked away, putting a little extra sway in her hips for effect, she looked over her shoulder at him and winked. "It was the way I would thank you for cooking my favorite Italian food, and no, you have not yet earned your reward. Depends on how good a cook you are."

Bobby's mind was reeling as he watched he strut off to the living room. _D-Did she just say what I think she…wait, a few hours ago she was…but now she's…_

Deciding to play the long shot, he returned his full focus to dinner. _This is going to be the best eggplant parmigiana she ever had._

_And then we'll find out if she's a woman of her word._


	10. Chapter 10

Putting her fork down and leaning back with a contented sigh, Eames patted her flat little belly in satisfaction. "Ooooohhhh…," she moaned, "that was sooooo gooooood. You lived up to your promise, Bobby. You are an excellent cook."

For his part, Bobby wouldn't know if the food was good or terrible; the case of cotton mouth her earlier teasing had given him had decimated his taste buds, and her current behavior (especially the moaning, _dear GOD_) wasn't helping matters any. He was happy she'd enjoyed her dinner, though, regardless of whether she actually intended to "reward" him. She'd had a rough night, and comfort food had been a good plan. He smiled to see her face so relaxed, and then got up to take their dishes into the kitchen and clean up.

She was beside him in an instant. "Let me do it."

He waved her off. "No, Eames, you're my guest. I'll take care of it."

"Guest?" she scoffed. "Give me a break, Goren. Cleaning is my one domestic skill; let me use it."

Knowing that arguing with her was usually both fruitless and painful, he acquiesced, but stayed in the kitchen to keep her company while she worked. Leaning against the counter, he smiled at her graceful and focused movements; it was a nice feeling, having her in his home, acting like she belonged here. He might just have to get that Cosmo subscription after all.

She made short work of the dishes, and stored the leftovers in his refrigerator, then somewhat shyly asked, "Do you want to go sit in the living room, or do you need to go to sleep now?"

With a smile he took her hand and led her into the living room, directing her so that they were seated closely together on his sofa, hands still clasped. Having determined to keep things as light as possible, he waggled his eyebrows at her and asked, "So, what's my reward?"

Grinning, she answered, "But I already did the dishes, Goren. Wasn't that enough for you?"

He tried to stop it, to hide it, but it wasn't possible. His face fell at her words.

With a gentle laugh, she brought his hand to her lips and kissed his palm.

For a moment he couldn't breathe. Her simple gesture was simultaneously touching and sexy, and he wanted his response to elicit from her the kind of happiness she had inspired in him.

Finally, tentatively, he pulled his hand gently from hers, and slowly caressed her cheek. He watched in fascination as her eyelids drooped and her breath quickened. She placed her own hand over his and stroked it, and it seemed to both of them like an eternity passed before they reluctantly disengaged.

Emotion choking her voice, Eames asked, "Bobby, do you think it would be okay if we took this slowly? If we're reacting like this from something so…basic, I think that anything more…advanced might be a little, uh, overwhelming for me at the moment."

His smile was slow but full. "I have two…no, three conditions before I agree."

She raised an eyebrow in surprise, but seeing the mischievous glint in his eye, played it cool. "Okay, I'll bite. What are your conditions?"

Taking her hand in his once again, he used her fingers to count against his palm.

"One – that you understand that I never want you to be uncomfortable with me; I'm good with letting things happen at their own pace. I didn't expect sexual favors for eggplant, Eames. For steak, maybe."

She chuckled, "I like number one. Agreed."

"Good. Two – that you stay here tonight, in my bed, and I'll sleep on the sofa. You need to rest, and I don't think you should drive at this hour."

She frowned. "Well, two seems unrelated to the agreement at large, but I'll go along, with one modification. You have a king-sized bed, right?" She remembered seeing it and thinking that she could get totally lost in a bed that big. And then she had thought a few other things, but in the interests of the agreement, it was probably better not to mention those.

Puzzled, he answered, "Yes, I do."

"Well, then, no sofa-sleeping for you. I think we can manage to share a bed that size without, you know…overwhelming each other."

"But I…"

"Nope, no negotiation. That's my condition to your condition, and it's final."

Realizing that he really had no choice, and not truly wanting to fight her on this (_Eames in my bed with me – like I'm gonna pass that up?)_, he agreed with a nod, and then continued.

"Okay, now number three is dependent upon your personal interpretation of number one." Suddenly a little timid to ask for what he wanted, he paused to breathe. _The worst she can do is say no. Or possibly, say no and laugh really loudly at me. Oh, boy. Oh, what the hell. Nothing ventured…_ "Uh, what I wanted to ask was if you would, um, maybe you would let me…kiss you goodnight?" He cast his eyes downward, afraid to see if she was cringing in disgust or getting ready to clock him one for his temerity.

So he didn't notice when she moved closer, until he felt her lips on his, soft and unsure at first, then with more pressure and intensity. His hands found their way into her hair and he pulled her closer, reveling in the sensation of being allowed this, and the further delight of her eager and gifted participation. The kiss was not quite chaste, but neither was it overpowering; it was simply a wonderful promise of things to come.

Reluctantly pulling away from her, he was thrilled to see a beautiful and peaceful smile on her face, and knew he matched it with one of his own. "Thank you," he said softly, wanting her to know that he was happy to receive what she was able to give.

She laughed then, a delicate and lovely sound, and leaned in to give him another, briefer kiss. "No need to thank me, Bobby. I've wanted to do that for a while; and I'm glad you asked. I was wondering how to go about it."

Once again, she'd managed to stun him. He knew that her ability to do that would be an integral part of their personal relationship, as it was in their professional one. Eames never asked him to be something he wasn't, and she had a unique capacity to break through all his defenses with her bluntness. He was looking forward to seeing how she would surprise him in the future, but for now, he was most looking forward to holding her as she slept. Getting up and extending a hand for her to do the same, he led her to his bedroom and opened the drawer where he kept t-shirts and sweats. "Take your pick; they'll all be huge on you, but pick what looks the most comfortable, okay?" He left her to her privacy, and went back to the common areas to turn off lights and be sure his front door was locked.

By the time he'd finished all his futzing, he heard water running in the bathroom, and went back to his bedroom to change for bed. Analyzing the situation as he was wont to do, he found it interesting that, as nervous as he'd been to kiss her for the first time, he was not at all nervous about spending the night with her in his bed. After everything they'd shared that night, he thought that the kind of closeness this action implied was almost more intimate than sex; it took a lot for Bobby to trust someone enough to sleep with them, and he suspected that Eames felt the same way. And yet, he thought as he changed, there was no hesitation from either of them in extending that kind of trust to one another. He smiled to himself at that; this was Eames, why would he have expected things to be any different?

He was still smiling when she returned to the bathroom, and had to stifle a laugh at the sight of her in his clothing. She had cuffed the sweatpants several times, it appeared, and his shirt hung to her knees, but he thought he'd never seen her looking quite so sexy before, and told her so.

She grinned and struck a campy pose, saying, "See, if they'd known that at Vice, that job would have been a lot more comfortable."

"Yes, but then I wouldn't know how hot you look in leather, Eames, and don't think I've forgotten that; I have every intention of making you prove your statement one day soon."

Clutching an imaginary set of pearls, she gasped, "Why, Robert Goren, what are you implying?"

Pulling her into a hug, he whispered, "Just that, in my opinion, Alexandra Eames, you're an incredibly sexy woman, and I can only imagine what a leather skirt would add to that." He growled softly in her ear, and then released her, and said, "Okay, let's go to bed now."

She giggled _(Eames can giggle? Fascinating.) _as they climbed in to his huge bed together, somewhat fussily rearranging pillows and blankets so they could lay in each other's arms without anybody (read: Eames) getting squished. Finally settling in, she placed a gentle hand on his chest, and as she started to drift off, whispered, "Thank you, Bobby."

Feeling more at peace than he had in a long time, he barely managed to answer, "No, thank you, Eames," before drifting off himself, secure with her in his arms.

**A/N – I keep forgetting to leave these, because I am, in fact, a big doofus. Thanks to all those who are reading, and again, I don't own these fictional peoples, Mr. Wolf does, but I enjoy…um, playing with them? Heh. **


	11. Chapter 11

Mike Logan looked over at his temporary partner, whose impassive face gave no clue to the horror story the ME was telling them. _Geez, I thought I was tough. _He refocused his attention to Rodgers, who continued to catalog the damage done to the body of "Mr. Jones." She was up to skeletal injuries.

"All ten fingers are broken, as well as most of the bones in both feet, and both patellae. In addition, one of his shoulders is dislocated. This guy was worked over; a lot of rage in this killing," she sighed.

Taking precise notes, Jeffries asked, "Any word on the prints?"

Rodgers shook her head, "Not yet. There should still be some identifiable whorls, so if he's in the system, they'll find him, but it takes time."

Logan nodded. "So, the rage aspect – are we looking for a user here or is this a professional hit? A guy in this line of business makes a lot of enemies. It would help if we knew which direction to start from."

Rodgers considered for a moment. "It's almost a combination killing. The number of injuries suggests extreme rage, which would track with the killer being a user, but most of them are peri- or post-mortem. What killed him, though, was a shot to the back of the head, and that was done very precisely. It's an unusual combination."

Jeffries interjected, "Any sign of a second killer?"

"No, all the injury patterns are all consistent with a single killer, which I did tell Goren and Eames at the preliminary yesterday. There's one new thing, though, that I found during the full autopsy; the killer's left-handed."

Logan's eyebrows shot up. "Hey, they're only 10 percent of the population, right? That at least cuts it from 8 million to 800,000." He grinned at Rodgers, and then asked, "You think we've maybe got an underling with an anger management problem here? Was supposed to just shoot the guy and go, but took the time to do all this," he indicated the body, "just for kicks?"

Jeffries watched with interest as Rodgers thought for a moment, then said, "It could be. You should check your theory with Goren; he loves that profiling shit."

Mike snorted, "I wish I could, but he and Eames have taken some time off. Hey! Goren's a southpaw, isn't he? Maybe we should call him to check his alibi."

Rodgers laughed, "He'd do it to you."

"I know it. Okay, thanks, Doc. Call us when you get the results on the prints, okay?"

"Sure." She waved them off, and got back to work.

As they walked down the hall, Mike stopped for a moment and turned to Jeffries. "Whaddaya think? Start checking the files Goren and Eames were going through – pull out the lefties?"

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan. You were really good with Rodgers; got a lot of stuff that wasn't in the report."

Winking lasciviously, Mike asked, "You mean you haven't heard how good I am, Jeffries? I'm shocked."

Meeting his eyes with a level gaze, she said, "Oh, I've heard about you, Logan. That's why I'm shocked."

Stunned into silence for a moment, he had to pick up his pace to follow her. _Another one who just loves me. Great._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He was awakened by the call of nature. The urgent, insistent call of nature. Orienting himself, he realized the slight weight on his chest was none other than Eames, resting comfortably, her head nestled into his shoulder.

_Great. I have a beautiful woman in my arms, and I have to get up and pee. How romantic._

Sliding out from beneath her as slowly and carefully as possible, he assured himself that he hadn't wakened her before heading to the bathroom to take care of business. He wanted nothing more than to return to his bed, to her, but he knew that once he was awake, that was it. Even if he could bring himself to lie back down, he was sure to be fidgety and twitchy, and that would surely wake her up, which he really didn't want to do. She needed some rest, and he had no intention of being the one to disturb that.

He walked into the kitchen and began making a pot of coffee. If he had to be awake and away from Eames, he certainly wasn't going to do it without sustenance of the caffeinated sort. Once the pot was brewing, he crept quietly back down the hall to peek in on her. She had spread out after his departure, and apparently kicked off the covers; she was laying facedown on his bed, arms and legs all akimbo. _Whoa. Those sweatpants really are far too big for her; they've ridden down so far I can almost see her…You know, rest is really overrated. I could probably go over there and touch her without waking her up, right? She wouldn't be mad, right? Ooohhh, her shirt rode up too. That's as much of Eames as I've ever seen, and may I say, rrrooowwrrr. Maybe I should wake her…Goren! Let the woman sleep!_

Utilizing an enormous amount of self-restraint, he went back to the kitchen for coffee. He was a little embarrassed at staring at her that way, but he was a man, after all, with all the hormonal drives and morning…anti-gravity issues that entailed, and he really couldn't help himself. _At least I managed not to molest her in her sleep_, he thought proudly, then laughed at the silliness of that; _wow, what a good guy you are, Goren; you didn't force yourself on this poor woman while she's trying to get some rest. Give yourself an award._

As he drank his coffee, feeling the energy return to him, it occurred to him that he could do something nice for Eames that would also benefit him. Deciding to take the action before he changed his mind, he snuck back into the bedroom (_I am NOT looking at her this time, oh no, I am ignoring her; she's not there…hello, lovely exposed skin – oh, no, I am NOT standing still and staring, I am leaving now) _and retrieved clothing and shoes before scrawling a quick note and taping it to the top of the coffeemaker, where she was sure to find it.

As he left, hoping she wouldn't mind too much that he was borrowing her car, he smiled to himself. _She's gonna like this; I hope. And I'm gonna love it._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rolling over and just barely opening her eyes, Alex checked the clock to see how much longer she could sleep.

10:35 AM. Suddenly her thoughts came in a flurry:

_Great. I'm late for work._

_Is that my clock?_

_Wait, I don't have to work._

_Hey, these sheets smell like…_

_Great. Or at least, potentially great._

She looked around the room, but he was nowhere to be found. _Hmmm. Guess I'm gonna have to get up._

Dragging herself from the bed by force, she adjusted her clothes, which had managed to travel in opposite directions. _Hmmm. Wonder if he saw that?_

Padding out to the bathroom, seeing no sign of Goren, she found a brand-new toothbrush on the sink. _Hmmm. Considerate host or player supplies?_

Venturing further, she detected the unmistakable smell of the nectar of the gods. _Hmmm. He made coffee; gotta love a man with domestic skills._

Following her nose to the source of the smell, she smiled to see a note to taped to the coffee machine in Goren's unique but occasionally illegible scrawl. "Eames – if you're awake before I get back, have some coffee and make yourself at home. I'll be back soon. I hope you slept well. I did. –RG" _Hmmm…he slept well, did he? Perhaps I can take a little credit for that. _

She did manage to resist the urge to do a little dance of pride at having been the cause of the infamously insomnia-ridden Goren getting a good night's sleep, but couldn't suppress a giggle at the way he'd signed his name. "RG" was what he wrote on every police report, and she always found it amusing when he did the same on notes he left on her desk. "Went to get coffee – RG." She had tried explaining to him that she generally knew who'd left her such a note, and the handwriting was a pretty big clue, and she was in fact a detective, but he seemed to enjoy returning to their desks to find her shaking her head and teasing him about the mysterious RG who was always off to get coffee. _Hmmm…maybe I can have a little fun with this today. What's the point of a day off if you don't do something just a little naughty?_

Deciding that her plan had merit, and that he deserved it at least a little for leaving her alone and signing a note that way, she determined to torture him just a bit upon his return. _Hmmm…can't wait to see how he reacts to what I have in mind._

**You know, the only bad thing about having an actual plot is that it actually requires progression. Thank goodness for Mike, and since Goren mentioned a Jeffries during "Blind Spot," that's why Mike's temporary partner got that name. Then it occurred to me that there was a Jeffries on early SVU, and so she got a personality. So, in this note, I disclaim ownership of any characters from any Law and Order incarnation, and hope that covers me. Thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

Driving back, Bobby was fairly pleased with himself. _The worst she can do is say no, and with the right persuasion, I can probably get her to say yes._

He was thrilled to see that the parking space he'd vacated earlier was still available, an almost unheard-of piece of luck in his neighborhood. _The fates are finally working with me_. He smiled to himself as he got ready to exit the car, taking care to readjust the seat and wheel back to Eames' height settings. _I am not doing anything to mess up this day._

Heading inside with what might actually be observed as a spring in his step, he approached his apartment door, full of anticipation, but was puzzled by what he found there.

It was a note, and he immediately recognized the paper as having come from the pad in his portfolio, but the most important clue about this note was its contents.

**RG,**

**My partner seems to have abandoned me after sleeping with me (I know!) and so I am very interested in discovering who you are. Per your request, I have made myself at home. Care to come in and see how?**

**AE**

Bobby had to laugh; leave it to Eames to decide to play a little game to punish him for leaving her. His mood would not be dampened, however; he determined to give as good as he got. _You wanna play, Eames? Okay, then. It's on._

He entered the apartment quietly and cautiously, fairly certain that she had likely seen him park and so was prepared for his arrival.

He was right, of course; immediately inside the door was another note, and this one had clearly just been written.

**RG,**

**You will PAY for taking my car without permission. Now bring me whatever's in that green bag, and take your punishment like a man.**

**AE**

Laughing, he shouted, "I'm not afraid of you, you Irish devil."

From her hiding place, Alex heard him, but knew the fun of the game depended on her silence. It took a great deal of self-control to do so, however, and she inwardly vowed to make sure that in future, he would be and stay afraid of her.

In a good way, of course.

Carrying the aforementioned green bag, Bobby continued his cautious movements further into his apartment. Macho bravado aside, he was a smart enough man to be at least a little afraid of Eames.

In a good way, of course.

He spied a note dead center on his kitchen floor, and as he picked it up, realized it smelled of coffee beans. She must have dipped it into his coffee canister to achieve the effect, and he was duly impressed and flattered that she'd thought to intrigue his senses as well as his mind.

After enjoying the olfactory stimulation for a moment, he read the note.

**RG,**

**My heartfelt thanks for the gift of freshly-made coffee. Had my partner not bailed on me, he could have enjoyed it with me, but you'll just have to do.**

**Are you standing still to enjoy the aroma? Cut it out. Hurry.**

**AE**

Bobby raised an eyebrow; he had not thought about the benefits of hanging around to wait for her to awaken and enjoy a lazy morning together. As usual, he'd been so focused on his plan of action he'd not stopped to realize there might be another way.

But of course, that was why Eames was such a valuable person in his life, both personally and professionally. She gave him the room to pursue his wildest thoughts, while calmly reminding him to stay grounded in reality. Those who made the mistake of presuming that her tendency to be quiet in his presence spoke of either inferiority or intimidation would be shocked by the truth: Robert Goren was a top-notch detective because Alex Eames made him one.

Speaking of which, he used his detective skills to determine that her trail of notes had nowhere to go but down the hallway. His intuition was rewarded when he found another missive taped to his bathroom door.

**RG,**

**Thank you for the toothbrush, though I am curious as to how you came to have an extra. Were you expecting company? Someone brunette and Amazonian, perhaps? My partner likes that type, too, which begs the question – what are the two of you doing with the likes of me?**

**Oh, right. I got it like that.**

**Come find it.**

**AE**

Oh, now this required a verbal response. "The toothbrushes were on sale, Eames, and there have been neither Amazonian brunettes nor women of any stripe in some time. I've got a thing for a little blonde pain in the…EEEYARGH!"

Genuinely startled, he dropped the bag and nearly fell to the ground when she jumped him from behind; she'd been hiding in the hallway closet, waiting for her moment to strike. She started laughing so hard he could feel her shaking as she clung to him like a living backpack. Once he was over his initial shock, he started to laugh as well.

_She got me good. Why am I surprised? Well, hell, two can play at this game._

Using both his strength and her current vulnerability, he simply lifted her weight off his body and turned around before bringing her close again. Now she was a living "frontpack," arms around his neck, legs around his waist, faces barely an inch apart.

And suddenly nothing seemed funny anymore. Their laughter came to an abrupt halt as their eyes met and understanding passed between them. She, as always, was the first to move, and to some degree, he needed her to do so. Leaning in to touch her lips to his, she felt that same sense of being overwhelmed, but this time there was no fear or nervousness; just a desire for more.

And he was happy to oblige.

Deepening the kiss, he reveled in the taste of her; a combination of sweetness and a slightly bitter tang that he found intoxicating. Placing a hand against her lower back, he caressed the soft skin there, as his fingers spanned the slight breadth of her. He explored firm musculature before moving his hand south to discover the unlikely richness of curves for someone so small.

Alex was enthralled with the intensity of his attention. While his tongue plumbed the depths of her mouth, his hand on her back transferred heat to her skin, and when he moved it lower, she let out an involuntary moan of surprise and pleasure. Her uncertainty of the previous evening was destroyed in that moment, leaving in its wake a sense of peace and freedom.

Winding one hand in his hair in an attempt to pull him closer, she used her foot to replicate the motions of his hand, and was delighted to feel his breath hitch in his chest, now firmly pressed to hers and creating an incredibly pleasant friction against her breasts. Releasing his tongue so she could use her own to worship his neck, she brought her mouth to his ear to whisper, "RG? Nice to meet you."

He let out a noise that was a hybrid of a laugh and a growl, and increased the pressure of his hand while bringing his mouth down her neck in search of his goal. He was pleased and a little taken aback to find she'd fashioned his oversized t-shirt into a sort of halter, and had exposed plenty of skin for his exploration. Dragging his cheek along her chest, if suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't bothered with the razor that morning. Reluctantly lifting his head from its comfortable and oh-so-long-awaited position, he asked, "Eames, am I hurting you?"

Her laughter was soothing and gentle. "Bobby, if you stop what you're doing I will hurt you," and she used the hand on his head to direct him back to his activities. Overjoyed to be given the all-clear, he investigated her skin with his lips and tongue, enjoying the addition of a slight saltiness and a citrusy lotion to her other tastes.

As Alex continued her affair with his neck, she felt their combined arousal (and a few other things) growing between them. As she caressed his back and neck, she used her fingernails to indicate to him her intentions, and felt rather than heard his groan of response, which served only to intensify her longing.

"Bobby, put me down," she whispered huskily in his ear, and being Bobby, he did so immediately and carefully, though she saw the flash of disappointment and concern cross his face.

Standing on tiptoe to kiss him, she took his hand and led him towards the bedroom. She was utterly dumbfounded when he resisted, and was turning to tease him when she saw his face.

He looked stunned and incredibly happy, and the moistness in his eyes convinced her that not only was she making the right choice for today, but for her future. _Any man who looks at you like that – grab him._

And so she did, ever so tenderly so as not to startle him, and looked up at him, trying to convey her certitude, her trust, and her love through her eyes.

Bobby, who was not only having a hard time moving, but an equally hard time believing this wasn't a dream, searched Eames' eyes for even the tiniest flicker of hesitation or worry. Finding neither, he bestowed upon her an expansive smile, and, hands entwined, they walked together to his bedroom, fully confident that they were not only ready, but more than able, and incredibly willing.

As clothes began to fly, neither noticed the note she'd left on the bed float to the floor.

**RG,**

**Welcome home.**

**AE**


	13. Chapter 13

On her knees, Alex worked diligently at the zipper, lips pursed in concentration, eyes focused on her task; her entire being geared towards its completion.

And so it was that when he came up behind her, her radar didn't immediately ping to his presence, until it was too late.

"Whatcha doin', Eames?" he whispered huskily into her ear, causing her to jump and nearly knock into him in her haste to rise to a standing position.

Deciding that the best defense was a good denial combined with her recently discovered abilities to distract her interrogator, she peered up at him through her lashes and subtly licked her lips. "Nothing."

Weakened but not yet defeated, Bobby chuckled. "You were attempting to open the bag, weren't you?" Fighting fire with fire, he placed a hand on the back of her head, using his fingers to stroke her hair while his thumb traced slow circles on her cheek. Gratified by the way her eyelids drooped and aroused by her slight moan, he struggled to maintain his composure and complete the questioning.

Sensing his battle, she smiled to herself, feeling no small amount of pride in this newfound power. "No, I wasn't," she purred, turning her head slightly to take his thumb in her mouth and give it a playful nip, sucking slightly. Holding his thumb close enough that he could feel her lips move against it, she continued in a throaty whisper, "But if you wanted to…show it to me, I wouldn't object."

You know, you'd think that an utter lack of either oxygen intake or blood flow above the waist would be uncomfortable, but you'd be wrong. At a moment like this, breathing seemed an entirely extraneous function, and Bobby vaguely wondered why he'd ever bothered with it in the first place, as he bent down to retrieve the green bag, force open its perpetually sticky zipper, and hand it to Eames, all without benefit of a single breath.

All too soon the oxygen was back, as she took her prize with a victorious laugh and sat on the floor to explore its contents.

"Eames," he let out in a frustrated huff of air, "you don't fight fair."

Her eyes shone up at him as she agreed. "Nope, but I always get what I want, so I figure fairness must be overrated."

She pulled out the first item. "A box of sugar packets?" She shot him a quizzical look.

"You're exhausting my limited supply," he answered, resigned to the ugly fact that her exploration of the bag was taking precedence over further exploration of…other things.

"Ah. Thank you," she nodded, with a half-smile of gratitude.

Next came the oldest, most worn, and tightest pair of jeans in her wardrobe. _How did he know that these make my ass look great...what the hell, it's Bobby. He just knows stuff. _Raising an eyebrow, she stated rather than asked, "You went to my apartment."

Bobby flushed a deep red. "I-I realize that I, uh, didn't ask you first, b-but I thought you might like to have some clean clothes, so…"

She remained silent as she pulled out a black tank top and matching hoodie. The eyebrow hit its peak when a rather flimsy pair of cami pajamas came next. _So, even before I gave him the goods, he wanted to dress me for the part. Interesting, Goren..._

Taking her silence as an indication that he'd overstepped his bounds, Bobby started explaining again. "Eames, you don't have to, you know, stay here if you don't w-want to, but I thought you might like, uh, your own stuff, if, if you did, so…I'm sorry."

Although watching him suffer was certainly one way to spend the day, Alex had already seen the bag of fresh bagels from the good place down the block, and so felt that the time had come to show mercy. "It's fine, Bobby, and very thoughtful. What else did you bring?"

Pawing through the contents of the duffel, she was pleased to see her moisturizer, deodorant and cosmetic bag had all made the trip. And, jammed down in one corner, she discovered that Goren, as usual, had been very thorough.

For which he'd clearly have to pay.

Pulling the items out, she grinned widely. "So this is what you like, Detective?"

Ashen, he could only nod.

Drawing closer, she struck a vampy pose. "Black lace, Goren? A little clichéd, don't you think?"

"Uh, they, uh, go with the shirt and that hood thing." Grateful that his speech had returned, the thought that he might be getting played by his clever partner flickered through his mind. He decided he didn't care when she began shedding clothes as she walked towards him. Holding the bra and thong panties in one hand, she growled, "Should I model these for you?"

Lack of oxygen, good. Inability to answer that question, bad. As if from far away he heard her tinkling laughter, though by now she was standing close enough to touch. He scarcely noticed as the lingerie he'd chosen with such care was dropped to the floor.

"Oh, hell. The fewer barriers the better, don't you think?" She was undressing him now, and he complied without conscious thought, his entire world narrowing to her eyes and the promises they were making.

It was early in the day, they had nowhere to be, and she was a woman of integrity.

She kept them all.

**A/N – Hey guys; if any of you are still reading, I apologize for my long absence. School stuff, work stuff, and life stuff all combined together, but I'm back on the "horse" now and actually have another chapter almost ready. Anyway, thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

Manny Ruiz stood outside the apartment building, anxious to see the right figure, or figures, emerge so he could be done with this.

He had realized far too late that in gaining freedom from prison, he'd only changed wardens, and he was starting to understand that there was no way this deal with the devil could end in his favor.

Still, a deal was what he'd made, and if he didn't live up to his end of the bargain, he was sure he'd regret it. So he stood here waiting, knowing that no matter what had been said, this wouldn't be the end of it. There would always be another "favor" to perform.

His only hope was that the boss would relent on that bitch cop; if he had to be a hired gun, at least he should be allowed to take care of his personal business too.

And he hated her.

Hated the way she'd looked at him that day, as if killing that other cop was anything but an act of survival.

Like that cop meant more to the world than he did.

Like he didn't count.

He'd tried to kill her, too; to leave no witnesses; had wanted to, almost ached to kill her, but the crap piece he'd stolen had stopped him.

Later, of course, at the trial, he'd told that bullshit sob story; I saw her face, she was so sad, I couldn't kill her, blah blah…

But he'd looked into her eyes, and she'd looked back, and they both knew. And he saw that she hated him, too.

Then he knew that to her, he finally counted, and if the boss would only give him the chance, he'd make sure she never witnessed anything again.

But there would be no witnesses tonight – he'd make damn sure of it this time.

He glanced nervously towards the door, beginning to feel the effects of the shot of courage he'd given himself earlier. _Come on, let's get this shit done._

If that dumbass bitch serial killer had gotten it done, he wouldn't have to take care of the little widow, how would he? Leave it to a woman to screw it up.

Suddenly, his target appeared - alone. He smiled to himself. _Easy. No witnesses._ Drawing the gun the boss had given him, he took aim and fired, putting the bullet directly in the center of the forehead. Not the back of the head, but that hadn't been essential; he took the cover provided and made the shot that worked. Pleased with himself, he decided it was time to have some fun.

Manny took great pleasure in the next part. The satisfying crunch of breaking bones, the soft whoosh of damaging flesh; these were like music to him. His wife had never understood it, understood him, though he'd made sure she'd never forget him. Maybe before he killed that Eames bitch, he'd find out if she was woman enough for him. The thought excited him, and as he went about his work with renewed energy, he failed to hear the quiet footsteps approaching from behind.

He didn't hear the gun being drawn, didn't hear the click as a round was chambered, didn't hear the slight catch, didn't hear the high-pitched ping of the bullet passing through the silencer.

As his body fell, dead before he hit the ground, his killer snorted in derision before setting to the task of creating the scene.

No witnesses.

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Mike Logan looked up at Ross expectantly, unsure of what the new captain wanted him to do.

"They're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus." Ross let out his breath in a long hiss; he had known from the start that this Ruiz situation would be a mess, but he'd had no idea it would wind up a catastrophe. "You have the file, right?"

"Yeah, Goren dropped it off," Mike glanced at his watch and let out a slight groan, "yesterday morning."

"Was Eames with him?"

"Not that I saw. I met him downstairs, but she wasn't in the car with him."

"Where is she now?"

Mike hesitated. Goren had told him Eames was staying at his place when he handed over Ruiz' file, but it had been unspoken between them that the information was private. He respected Goren and Eames and their partnership, whatever other forms it took, and didn't want to betray their trust. Aiming to distract Ross, he reminded him, "Ruiz was good for the first killing, Captain. Left-handed, violent, a quick and accurate shooter. That's what Goren and I talked about. I didn't really ask about Eames. We should probably call her cell phone. Or maybe Goren knows where she is."

Ross sighed; he was not a stupid man, and he understood both the intention and the subtext of Logan's answer. Remembering his conversation with Jimmy Deakins, he suspected that his most productive team of detectives were about to find themselves between a crushing rock and an incredibly hard place. Taking a deep breath, he made his decision. "Let's get them both in here."

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Bobby rolled over and placed a gentle hand on Eames' hip. Sighing with contentment, he thought to himself that today had been probably the best day of his life. After "punishing" him for his sartorial choices, Eames had insisted upon breakfast in bed, and they'd enjoyed making a crumby mess of his bed before finally relenting and getting out of it.

The rest of the day had flown by; they hadn't really done anything, but the time had felt full nonetheless. First he'd had to admire her in the ensemble he'd chosen, then he'd had to charm her out of it, which had led to a revisit of Crumb Central and a very funny incident with a bagel remnant. But putting that kind of fun aside, just spending time together and talking, not about a case or his mother or her husband or Ruiz, just about themselves and random, silly things, was wonderfully relaxing, and had confirmed for him just how well they liked each other, above and beyond the other aspects of their relationship. For the first time, Bobby felt like he was with a woman who not only accepted him, but actually enjoyed his company, even to do nothing with. _That's my Eames. She's perfect._

He chuckled softly to himself as he realized how little she would like that assessment; Eames was a pragmatist, and would likely immediately point out what she viewed as her flaws. That being the case, he'd have to amend his statement: _That's my Eames. She's perfect…for me. _He grinned against her shoulder, tracing slow and lazy circles across the contours of her hip, causing her to stir slightly. He allowed his hand to still, knowing that she needed her rest, and truth be told, as much as he wanted to stay awake to watch her and convince himself she was real and really here with him, he needed his rest too.

Snuggling in even closer to her, he allowed his eyes to close, as he began drifting to join her in a peaceful sleep.

It couldn't last.

**Dear Mr. Wolf: No, I don't own them, you do, okay? But me and my friends would much appreciate your, you know, borrowing some of our ideas and making this season just a little less depressing, so please work on that. Kisses!**


	15. Chapter 15

Their cell phones went off simultaneously, and a moment later, Bobby's home phone was ringing as well.

Bobby and Alex sat up, both a little disoriented, reaching for items that weren't in their usual places.

Bobby got to his land line first, and as Alex finally located her cell phone and flipped it open to answer, she winced to see him pale suddenly. Staring across the room, she tried to read his eyes, but the shadows there were too dark for even her to penetrate. She tried to refocus her attention on the voice at the other end of the line.

"Eames! Eames, are you there?" Ross' voice was sharp and loud in her ear, but her eyes and mind were elsewhere, watching Bobby speak quietly into his phone, then seeing him disconnect and begin to walk towards her, his face drawn and anxious. She barely managed to answer Ross with a soft "yes" when to her surprise, Bobby took the cell phone from her hand, barked "we're on our way" into it, and hung up on Ross. A part of her wanted to worry about that, but most of her knew that she was about to have much more to be concerned with.

Tossing the cell phone to the side, Bobby knelt before her and placed a large hand on each of her knees, meeting her eyes with a look of protective fervor. He spoke quietly and calmly, telling her in as few words as possible about the death of Manuel Ruiz, pausing for a shaky breath before telling her the rest.

In an instant she understood, and she felt her insides tremble with fear for a moment before the anger saved her, clarifying her thoughts and making her actions sure and steady. Her eyes stayed on Bobby's, knowing that he had read her emotional transition and understood it, as his own anger shone through, fierce and powerful.

She allowed her gratitude at the certainty of their partnership to be visible for a moment (just long enough for it to be seen and acknowledged) before the anger surged again. In a firm voice, she asked, "Do you have evidence bags and closures here?"

It was common for detectives to keep supplies at their homes for late-night calls, and while Goren was no common detective, Alex knew he respected and followed the tradition. Mutely he nodded his understanding, and went to retrieve the requested items.

She stood when he returned; back ramrod-straight as he gently bagged her hands, securing the closures as loosely as possible for her comfort. She began to ask, "Can you…" but he was already answering "yes," as he retrieved her clothing from the armchair in the corner and began helping her to dress.

"You'll have to drive," she said, "unless you're a…unless you need to bag your hands as well."

Holding on to his self-control by a thread, and only because she needed him to, Bobby answered softly, "According to Logan, the angle was wrong for someone of my height, unless…"

"Unless they were kneeling." She finished his sentence automatically.

"Which, in this case, I wouldn't do." There was comfort in their standard back-and-forth, as if this was a normal case, but of course it wasn't. Bobby, had he committed this crime, would never have knelt, because of who that position would throw suspicion on. He knew it. She knew it. And they would have to deal with the ramifications of it first, but as Bobby looked over at Eames, holding her bagged hands high with a quiet dignity to which he aspired, he vowed to himself that he would ensure that whoever had caused this surreal nightmare would not go unpunished.

Finished dressing and having packed up what they would need, Bobby walked over to Eames and held her close for a moment, before pulling back to meet her eyes. "Eames, we will straighten this out today. And then, no matter what Ross says, we investigate this."

She nodded, fire in her eyes. "I agree."

He continued, "Whoever is behind this is powerful, Eames, but not flawless. They took the time to set up this way to distract us, distract everyone at Major Case, which means either we were too close, or Logan was."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Alex added, "And Ruiz was just a pawn, but he's where we have to start, Bobby. It-it's going to be hard for me. But I need to do it. I'm going to do it."

He held her face in his hands. "And you won't be alone."

It almost broke her, but she held on to her composure like a drowning man to a life preserver. _Later_, she promised herself, _later I will make him know what that means to me; later I will make it my mission to make him feel what I do now. Like I can do anything, as long as he stays with me._ She looked up into his eyes, and the comprehension and acceptance there let her know that later would be good enough. Raising her chin defiantly, a slight hint of her usual spark returning to her eyes, she said, "We'll do it together."

An arm around her waist, they walked out together, secure in the knowledge that whatever it took, they would find out who was behind this.

Because whoever it was had overlooked some critical facts:

Robert Goren and Alexandra Eames would die for each other.

And if it came down to it, they would kill for each other too.

But it was more complicated than that; those things would have been true a week ago. But today, today was different. They would still die for each other, and kill for each other, but now they had a third entity to protect – the new "us" that had only recently come into being.

Those who had tried to destroy them had better watch their backs, because Goren and Eames were coming for them, with more at stake than ever before.


	16. Chapter 16

Ross met them at the door, and nodded appreciatively at Eames' hands. "Smart move, Detective. If you can take having them on for a few more minutes, I'd like to give you a briefing."

She nodded, and Ross ushered them back towards his office. The squad room was unusually quiet and tense, but as she passed, Alex heard those who weren't on the phone murmur words of support, and she smiled and nodded at each, knowing that these people, her second family in a way, had her back. Logan and Jeffries awaited them in Ross' office, and Mike warmed her heard by stating loudly, "What a crock of shit this is, Alex." She allowed herself a small grin and felt, rather than saw, Bobby's grateful smile behind her. He smoothly pulled out a chair for her, planting himself directly behind it like a giant guard dog when she sat.

Mike, too, stayed protectively close, as Jeffries took the chair beside her.

Ross, from behind his desk, began, "You received my phone call when, Detective Eames?"

"6:10 AM."

"And you bagged your hands at what time?"

Bobby answered for her, "Immediately thereafter, Captain."

"When was the last time you fired your weapon, Eames?"

She thought for a moment. "About…maybe a week ago, I went down to the range. Not since then."

"And the last time you washed your hands?"

That one was easier. She had again insisted on washing the dishes after dinner, and it had led to rather a soapy encounter with her partner, but Ross didn't need to know that. "Last night, around 10."

Taking notes, Ross asked, "And I assume…and I don't want or need details…but I assume you have an alibi for last night, if you need it, which I don't think you will?"

Alex answered in a firm voice, "I do," as Bobby nodded behind her.

Ross let out an almost inaudible groan, his head down, before pushing aside his notes. "Okay, now that we've gotten that out of the way, here's what happened."

"Last night, at approximately 1:00 AM, Manuel Ruiz shot and killed David O'Donnell, the biggest drug dealer in the Irish-American community. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Ruiz was shot and killed himself, at close range and from behind. The guns used in both shootings were found at the scene; we are working on tracing the weapon used to kill Mr. O'Donnell, but it looks like a wild goose chase, though we have matched it to our open homicide of Mr. Jones. We have traced the weapon used on Mr. Ruiz, and that's where our real problems begin."

Dread rose in Alex' stomach like bubbling tar. "Why is that?"

Mike squatted beside her chair and answered, "The gun that killed Manuel Ruiz was the same gun that killed your husband, Eames."

Deep down, she had known it, but actually hearing it aloud was jarring. Alex swore softly under her breath, and felt Bobby tense behind her as he spoke.

"So we have a dirty cop." Alex could hear the fury just beneath the surface of his words; though his conversation with Mike had indicated that there was reason to be concerned she was a suspect in Ruiz' death, they'd had no idea how distressing the situation actually was, nor how dangerous.

Ross nodded in response to Goren's statement. "It looks that way; that weapon was in an offsite evidence storage facility, marked for destruction in 2008. It should never have seen the light of day again. We're checking records at the facility to see who's gotten in lately."

Her own fury returning, Alex managed to convey her usual dry tone, asking, "Who wants to take bets that my name, or Goren's, will be on that log?"

No one answered, but it was Jeffries who broke the silence. Turning her chair towards Eames', she spoke gently. "I hope it's okay – I set it up for you to do your residue test with Warner, the ME from my old unit. The captain felt it would be best if we didn't use someone you work with regularly. And she's good; I trust her."

Alex nodded. "That's fine. Can you show me where her office is?"

Jeffries agreed, and the two female detectives got ready to leave. As she walked past Bobby, Eames paused and met his eyes. For a moment they communicated silently (You want me to go with you? No, I'd prefer if you stayed here and found out what in the hell's going on, but thanks), then she said, "I'll expect a full report from you, Goren, when I come back. No secrets. Got it?"

A twinkle in his eye, Bobby answered, "Yes, ma'am."

Eames rolled her eyes, but said nothing further as she exited the office.

After she and Jeffries had departed, Bobby turned to the captain, arms crossed, and rose up to his full height. "Please tell me you know that Eames had nothing to do with this."

Ross waved a hand dismissively. "Of course she didn't, Detective. Above and beyond the fact that Eames is not a murderer, she's simply not this stupid."

Mike interjected, "We think the attempt to frame Eames was last-minute, and probably aimed more as a jab at the NYPD than a genuine effort to implicate her personally. It's too goddamned clumsy for that, but it sure as hell tells us loud and clear that we've got a problem."

Bobby nodded, "Whoever let our perp get access to the storage facility and the gun."

"Yes," Ross answered, "and to be honest, we need to get this situation with Eames settled as quickly as possibly, but also quietly. I'd like to clear her with the residue test, but keep those results just among a few of us."

Bobby met the captain's eyes. "Flush 'em out. As long as Eames doesn't have a problem with that, neither do I. In fact, it fits in with my suggestion that she and I…"

"No – absolutely not." Ross stood, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Bobby kept his voice calm, though he could feel his blood pressure rising, as it always did when he was misunderstood. "Logan and Jeffries would still be the detectives of record, and Eames and I would just…help. We could fly under the radar."

Ross stared at Bobby for a moment before asking, "Detective Goren, have you ever flown under the radar?"

Mike stifled a laugh as Bobby flushed slightly. "For this I would manage it, Captain," he spoke firmly.

Still amused, Mike nonetheless agreed with Goren. "Captain, we could really use their help. And if whoever tried to set up Eames has counted them out, they might get more information working unofficially than we will out in the open."

The captain sighed, "I'd like to hear what Eames has to say about this."

"Oh, she agrees," Bobby piped up, earning another groan and an impressive eyeroll.

Ross leaned closer and spoke under his breath, "Not to tell you your business, Detective, but your new girlfriend doesn't strike me as the type who appreciates having someone make decisions for her. Take a tip from a man who's been there; if you value your life, you'll let Detective Eames speak for herself."

Bobby's mind was whirling. _Girlfriend? Eames isn't my…well, technically I guess she is, though I suspect she would hate that word, but…but is this my captain telling me how to keep her? Shit. Think, Goren! He's staring at me now. Must. Distract. Ross._

"Uh, um, we discussed it in the car on the way over. _Liar. You discussed it while you put her bra on, but you probably shouldn't mention that. _E-Eames said she wants to investigate this. I..er, uh, didn't make any decisions or anything, and about the, uh, the um…girl-girlfriend remark, I d-don't really have um…anything else to say. That's it."

He felt his cheeks go hot when Logan grinned widely at him, remarking, "Smooth."

Ross stifled a guffaw and returned to his seat. "Fine, Goren; if Eames agrees, the two of you can do some quiet investigating. But I do mean quiet; you'll check in with Logan and Jeffries regularly, and you'll be using vacation time. I don't want to take the chance of even the appearance of impropriety in this investigation. Anything you find, we hear about immediately, and you and Eames let Logan and Jeffries bring in any evidence. Is that clear?"

Happy to have a moment to recover, Bobby nodded, and spoke more calmly. "Understood, Captain." Turning to Logan, he said, "When Eames is finished with the ME, we'll get started. We'll call you later." He walked out, and tried hard not to wince when he heard the two men laugh in his wake.

_Fine. Amuse yourselves. Eames and I have got work to do. And neither of you got to dress Eames this morning; and you won't get to undress her tonight. So there._

**A/N – I realize that the Jeffries on CI is not female nor the SVU version, but what can I say? Artistic license and a twisted mind lead to confusion, so…what was the question? Anyway, thanks for continuing to read. **


	17. Chapter 17

The man smiled broadly as he listened to his protégé excitedly tell of her adventure. While he'd always known of his power over women, he'd never realized the extent to which a certain kind of woman would go when she felt…protective towards him. His past relationships had proven that some women were willing to dedicate themselves to taking care of the right kind of man, but he'd never before been able to inspire this fierce depth of loyalty. It made him wonder what he could have accomplished had he been wiser in his choices as a young man. But there was no point in looking back, really; he wanted to look forward, because she had given him something to look forward to.

Vengeance.

At long last, he'd managed to inflict some punishment on those who had destroyed everything he'd worked so hard for. And the feeling of it was a sweet release, not unlike the afterglow of great sex.

_Speaking of which…_

He shot a furtive glance over his shoulder at the guard in the corner, and was pleased to see that he was pointedly ignoring them. Her status allowed for physical contact during their visits, for which he was eternally grateful, though it perturbed him at first that even she had to be strip-searched for a contact visit. He had hoped she might eventually agree to bring him a little "sustenance," but his disappointment at the impossibility of that had been short-lived when he'd discovered her dirty little secret.

The humiliating and degrading process of being stripped, poked and probed…turned her on. It brought her into the visitors' room flushed with what might naturally be perceived as embarrassment, but was actually arousal.

Once he had realized that, he had known she was the one; the one who could, and would, without hesitation, give him everything he needed. The right words, combined with sly touches, and he had her eager to do anything for him.

Anything.

The thought fueled his own arousal, and with another quick look to confirm the guard was still disinterested, he dragged her chair closer, leaving his hands on her thighs.

Per his direction, she'd worn a short, tight skirt, and she widened her legs to give him access as her breath hitched in her chest.

Caressing her thighs, he asked, "And what was the mood at the Major Case Squad today, baby?"

Eyes half closed, she reached a hand to touch his chest before answering, "I couldn't get in, baby. They had that placed locked up tight; no outsiders at all, not even from other squads." She used her other hand to encourage him to move his higher, but was dismayed when he withdrew.

Fury boiled inside him; what good was exacting pain if he never got the details? Clamping his hands down hard on her wrists, he hissed, "How could you let me down? You know I need to hear everything. What kind of little fool are you?"

Her blue eyes widened in shock, and tears welled at their edges. "B-but sweetie, I t-tried to find out for you. But I c-couldn't, and then I didn't want to be late for our visit." She cast her eyes downward, thoroughly ashamed of her failure. "I'm sorry I disappointed you, baby."

He had managed to resist the urge to wrap his hands around her throat, mainly, in truth, because of the guard, who was somewhat less catatonic at the moment. "Keep your voice down. Clearly I'll have to explain to you again what I need." Calmer now, he let his grip on his wrists loosen so that it was almost…but not quite…a loving touch.

She sighed in relief and met his eyes with an expectant and alert expression in her own.

As he gave her the instructions, he allowed her the luxury of a few touches; her face, her breasts, the sides of her muscled legs. But he kept himself mostly aloof; she deserved no pleasure from him today, and any he needed he would surely get (like it or not) from his cohabitants, so he withheld what she truly wanted.

As he finished her lesson, he leaned in close. "Come back tomorrow with what I want, and I'll give you what you want." He pulled away and was gone before she could (not that she would dare) protest.

When she was sure that he couldn't see her, she pouted. This was so unfair of him. Ever since the day they met, when she had taken on a routine duty to make a delivery and ended up finding the man she'd been waiting her entire life for, she'd done anything and everything he'd asked, and had enjoyed doing it. He knew that, and he knew his power over her, and it was unfair of him to use it just because the uptight shits at MCS had kept her out today. Her sense of loyalty had kept her from doing what he now asked, and she was still hesitant to follow through with his plan, but it was his plan, and she knew her place in this relationship, so she'd do as he asked.

And she'd get him the information he so badly needed to make peace with what had been done to him. That part she understood; when he'd told her his story; of those who had so unfairly accused him and then tricked him into a false confession, of the betrayal of one who should have died before allowing herself to be used in that way, she had cried. Here was a man who simply needed the right kind of woman to love and support him with her whole being, and she intended to be that woman. With her kind of love, he would surely be a better man; her man.

As she retrieved her belongings from the front desk, she squared her shoulders with a newfound determination. What he needed, he would get. And she would be the one to give it to him.

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"What I need is a long, hot shower." Eames looked in disgust at her hands, stained from her residue test, and sighed.

From across their desks, Bobby smiled. "As much as I'd like to indulge you," he lowered his voice, "and even join you, we have work to do, so you're going to have to make do with the ladies' room sink."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that, Goren. And that's where I'm headed, but it's nice to express your desires every once in a while, don't you think?" She brushed into him as she passed, and Bobby winced at the contact. _Wasn't it bad enough she had him thinking about her and a shower when they had to go interview Ruiz' wife? Did she also need to touch him? What kind of cruel woman was this Eames anyway? _He sighed, resigned to wait for her return, and refocused his attention on the photo of the woman they were heading to see. She was very lovely, though her face was a bit haggard for such a young woman. The impression he had, with which Eames had concurred, was that she'd led a rough life, especially since marrying Ruiz, and they were both very curious to discover why she had fought so hard for his parole.

Ross had initially balked at the idea of sending Eames to question the wife of the man who had killed her husband, fearing that the conflict of interest was too great, but Bobby was certain that the emotional shock of seeing Eames on her doorstep, unannounced, might lead Mrs. Ruiz to reveal more than she would to another pair of detectives. From what Eames had told him, the two women had seen but not acknowledged each other at Ruiz' trial, and that prior to the hearing where Ruiz was paroled, his wife had never testified before the board. He felt strongly that Selenia Ruiz might just have a few things to say to Alexandra Eames, and those things could be critical in figuring out their case. Eames, who was none too thrilled with the idea at first, had gradually warmed to it, and the force of the both of them insisting had been enough to get Ross to relent.

The scent of industrial-strength soap announced Eames' return, and he could see that her hands were now clean, if a little raw. He longed to reach out and soothe them with his own, but wisely refrained, as the thought of Ross giving birth to kittens in the middle of the squad room was simply too frightening.

The two detectives gathered their things and headed to the elevator, where Eames wearily leaned against the back wall as they made their way slowly down to the parking garage. He leaned down to kiss her, but she whispered, "Cameras," and he stopped cold, settling instead for leaning next to her, their bodies just barely touching.

With a chuckle, she demanded, "Keys," and held out the hand furthest from Bobby. He hesitated for a moment, but acquiesced and reached across her to deposit them in her hand. Then he felt her other hand, brushing against the muscles of his back, over his shirt but under his jacket.

He took a deep breath. "You know, Eames, there's something I've been wondering."

The hand was lower now, gently caressing the small of his back.

"D-do you really not like the way I drive, or…"

Aaaaaaand even lower_. Gulp. Think of Ross and his kittens. _She was now more firm in her touch, though her eyes remained straight forward.

"Or," he struggled to complete his sentence, "are you just a control freak?" He was happy he'd managed to rasp it out, as she continued her…undercover operation.

She arched an eyebrow as she looked up at him. "I just don't like the way you drive. I do, however, like the way you do certain other things."

Intrigued and enjoying the "massage", Bobby waggled his eyebrows at her, "Such as?"

The doors opened, and she slipped away before he had a chance to catch her, calling out. "Aw, sorry. Can't answer you right now. Gotta drive."

This, he realized, would be her vengeance for every weird thing he'd ever smelled, for all his arcane knowledge thrown in her face at odd moments, for his geeky hobbies, and for his occasionally antisocial personality.

_She's going to drive me crazy._

_And I'm going to love every minute of it._

As he exited the elevator to join her in the car, he couldn't suppress his grin.


	18. Chapter 18

Witnessing the boss' fury, an almost unheard-of occurrence, felt like acid washing over Cooper's skin. The man in front of him was known and feared for his ability to keep cool in any situation, and seeing him nearly out of control with anger was unsettling, to say the least.

"Who the fuck did this?" In contrast to his usually even and cultured tone, at the moment he was almost screaming. "Of all the stupid, clumsy, inane things to do; to try and set up a COP? Jesus Christ. Like it wasn't bad enough Manny had to ravage the bodies against my orders. Like it isn't bad enough that now I need to find someone to finish Manny's assignment. Now, Cooper, now we've got a whole other situation, because the cops are gonna be all over everything at that scene, and if Manny left even a fiber that connects to me, they'll find it. It's a good thing you never delivered that card."

While the boss took a moment to catch his breath, Cooper, who had thus far simply listened, got up the courage to speak. "We're sure the cop didn't do Ruiz? She hated him, and she was seriously pissed that he got out."

He realized he'd made a terrible mistake when the boss leveled his gaze directly at him; the coolness had returned, but the fury still coursed just under the surface.

"Yes, Cooper, I am sure. The Widow Shea, unlike the morons who work for me, is _smart_. If she had done it, no one would have ever found Manny's body, and most certainly not with a completely traceable weapon sitting next to it. If she weren't such a clean cop I'd hire her. I might anyway; she'd turn me in, but she'd at least do it right."

Cooper hesitated, deciding to brave another question. _He can only kill me once, right? _"What about the wife? She hated Manny's sorry ass worse than the cop did."

The boss arched an eyebrow. "She's a better candidate for the stupid impulsive approach, that's for sure. But how would she get that gun?"

Emboldened, Cooper continued, "Maybe she's shacking up with a cop?"

The boss considered this. "That's a possibility; she never was too discriminating about who she banged; that's how she ended up with that trash Ruiz to begin with. Okay, why don't you go over there and have a talk with her? Find out if she killed Manny, and find out anything else she knows if she didn't."

Nodding, Cooper put on his jacket and headed for the door. As he was about to leave the boss called out, "And remember. No witnesses."

In their state of disquiet, neither man remembered the never-delivered card. Intended as a warning to O'Donnell's colleagues, it left no room for doubt as to just who had ordered him killed.

And it was still in Cooper's pocket.

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Alex listened with half an ear as Bobby got an update from Logan. Despite her earlier bravado, she was distressed by the upcoming meeting with Ruiz' widow. She wasn't sorry Ruiz was dead; far from it, and she didn't feel particularly sorry for his wife, either, but even so, Alex wasn't entirely comfortable with Bobby's plan. She knew what it was like to lose a husband, the depth of sorrow this woman must be going through, and she suspected that if his wife had even an inkling that Alex was under investigation (however unwarranted) in conjunction with Ruiz' murder, things could get ugly.

Bobby finished his call and gave her a quick summary, "Mike says Ruiz' lawyer is terrified, wouldn't even let them in without a warrant, and is probably packing up and moving out as we speak. Mike thinks it's a good bet that someone very powerful paid Ruiz' legal fees, which tracks with what they're thinking about the killings. The problem is that if he's right, and I think he is, no one will talk to us; everyone will be too afraid.

Alex processed this for a moment, her brow furrowed. "But it doesn't make sense, Bobby. Why would someone that high up on the food chain, who inspires that kind of fear, bother with such a clumsy attempt to set me up for Ruiz' murder? Or, for that matter, bother to murder Ruiz in the first place? He was obviously expendable, but he was also obviously necessary enough to spring from prison."

Bobby nodded, "I agree; whoever killed Ruiz and set you up had nothing to do with the other killings. They're two different kinds of crimes, therefore two different criminals. So we have a two-tier investigation."

Eames snorted. "Is there any other kind? I mean, when, Bobby, when in your memory, has the first person we suspected been the actual perp? There's always some friggin' twist. It's…"

"Interesting?" he asked with a wry smile.

"No."

"Enigmatic."

"Well, yes, but…no."

"Stimulating?"

"No. You know what it is, Goren? It's annoying." He laughed. "I mean it. Just once, I'd like to go to a crime scene and find the perp there, with a sign that says, 'I did it.' And evidence that says, 'Hey, right; it was that guy.' And a profile from you, with only one possible suspect. Who? That guy."

Thoroughly amused, Bobby laughed, "You would hate that, Eames."

In a serious tone, she replied, "No, you would hate that, Bobby; I would be thrilled. I would buy a margarita _for the perp_, that's how thrilled I would be."

He watched her carefully as she ranted, realizing that her hands were shaking a bit on the steering wheel, and her lower lip was beginning to tremble. "Eames, could you pull over, please?" he asked softly, and while she raised a quizzical eyebrow, she complied.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turned to pull her close, and felt her go limp in his arms. "What is it?" he whispered.

Breathing the scent of him in for comfort, she took a moment to answer, looking up to meet his eyes as she did, "This should feel better, shouldn't it? When you first told me, I was shocked, and then I had to worry about protecting myself, but I feel like I should feel…relief at Ruiz being dead, and I don't."

Searching her eyes, he asked, "What do you feel?"

Tears welling, she swallowed hard and swiped at her eyes absently with one hand. "I feel…sad. I don't feel sorry for Ruiz, and God help me, a part of me is glad he's dead, but mostly I'm just sad."

Brushing a stray hair away from her face, he let his hand linger on her cheek in a gesture of comfort. "It didn't bring him back."

She smiled up at him through her tears, loving him for both understanding, and expressing, her thoughts. "Exactly. It didn't bring Joe back; it didn't erase the last 8 years of missing him. It's just one more life cut short, and that's such a waste, you know? Because it didn't change anything at all; it's just sad." She shook her head, not really believing that in some small way, her tears were shed not only for her husband, but for Manuel Ruiz as well. Not the man who'd killed Joe, not the drug dealer, or the murderer, or the parolee, but the Manuel Ruiz who, 30 years ago, had been born with a chance to not become all those things, and had wasted that chance. It was a damn shame.

And Bobby understood that, so he didn't try to make her feel better, didn't tell some silly lies that she wouldn't have believed anyway. He just held her, and projected his compassion to her in their private, unspoken language, and hoped that it would be enough.

And for Alex, whose thoughts had turned from what she'd lost so long ago to what she'd only recently found, it was enough.

And for that, she said a silent prayer of gratitude, before leaning in to kiss him gently, straightening herself up, and getting on the road again.

_Back to work._

**A/N – I own nothing, blahbiddy blah. If, however, I did own something, I would assure that new episodes were on more often, know what I mean, Mr. Wolf & Co.?**

**Thanks for reading!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: This should have been in the last chapter (my bad, sorry), but a big shout-out and thanks to boohoo650 for most excellent and helpful constructive criticism, which inspired me to write the scene in the car with Alex's mini-meltdown. Thanks to everyone who continues to read and review; there is a light at the end of this tunnel, and I appreciate your sticking it out with me as I feel my way.**

**Also, a quick note to my Irish-American brethren and…sistren? Please take no offense at the upcoming remarks about Irish wakes; I speak from experience, and wouldn't have it any other way, if you know what I mean.**

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Cooper watched as Selenia Ruiz danced around her living room, a beer in one hand.

Apparently her period of mourning had been brief.

He laughed to himself, thinking that he wasn't exactly grief-stricken at Ruiz' death either. The circumstances and potential fallout were dangerous, but Manny had been, at best, an unstable member of the team, and no one who'd had to work with him was particularly sad to see him gone; he'd been a liability.

Cooper had ascertained that Ruiz' widow was in fact alone, and was about to approach the house when a black SUV pulled up. He froze when he recognized the pair as they got out of the car.

This was not good.

Sliding down further in the driver's seat of his car, he pulled out his cell phone, dreading the call he had no choice but to make.

This was really not good.

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Logan and Jeffries entered the elevator at One PP, intent on making a quick job of the paperwork on Ruiz' lawyer before heading out again.

They were discussing options for a possible warrant when the elevator stopped, and a records clerk Logan knew slightly got on, smiling broadly when she spotted him.

Jeffires was amused at the rather obvious way the young woman was flirting with her temporary partner; Logan was good-looking enough, she supposed, but she didn't personally see the appeal.

Of course, her taste in men had been called into question in the past, so she mentally cut the girl a break, not envying her as she read Logan's clear lack of interest.

Apparently undaunted by the gentle brush-off, the girl continued her efforts; touching Logan's arm, looking up at him adoringly, even (though perhaps unconsciously) thrusting out her chest. Logan remained unmoved, however, and was forced to finally push his way past the girl to get out at the 11th floor. She tried to follow them into the squadroom, still giggling and batting her eyelashes, but Jeffries knew any intrusion would be unwelcome, and so firmly stepped in her way, tossing off a curt, "Sorry, not today," as she did so, earning a grateful look from Logan.

She almost missed the girl's muttered, "Bitch" as the doors closed, but the vicious tone caught her attention and she stared for a moment, taken aback.

As she and Logan made their way back to their desks, Jeffries couldn't fight her curiosity, and asked, "What in the hell did you do to that girl?"

Logan held up both hands in a gesture of innocence. "Not a thing, I assure you. As a matter of fact, up until just now, she's done nothing but ignore me, unless I needed a file. I passed her in the hall this morning, and she didn't even say hello."

Jeffries, not entirely convinced Logan was being truthful, narrowed her eyes and studies him. He seemed genuinely baffled. She raised one eyebrow. "She ignored you this morning, and she's all over you this afternoon?"

Logan nodded. "That's pretty much the story, yeah." Considering for a moment, he continued, "Jeffries, she seemed awfully anxious to get into MCS, don't you think?"

"She did. And she's a petite little thing, to boot."

"Blonde, toned," Logan added.

Their thoughts converging, the pair moved together to head for Ross' office.

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The sounds of salsa music floated out Selenia Ruiz' windows, befuddling, for a moment, the two detectives waiting at her door.

"Maybe it's like an Irish wake," offered Eames, "you know, celebrate the life rather than mourn the death?"

Bobby mumbled in agreement, though his face was doubtful. He knocked again, finally inspiring an "I'm coming" from somewhere in the house.

The door opened, and Selenia Ruiz got her first look at Detective Alex Eames since the trial so many years ago. Her eyes narrowed. "Did you kill Manny?"

Eames, a bit taken aback by the woman's bluntness, not to mention her appearance, simply shook her head no.

Hand on her hip, the Widow Ruiz snorted, "Well, that's too fuckin' bad. I was about to offer you a drink."

Bobby and Alex exchanged a glance. It was clear this woman had already had more than a few drinks, and she was dressed for a party, in a skintight red sheath that left little to the imagination, full makeup, and what Alex would deem (and attempt to explain to Bobby later) "club hair."

Even the Irish showed more restraint than this.

Still staring at Alex, Mrs. Ruiz sighed, "Well, you don't deserve a drink, but since you kept his ass in prison all those years, you can come in." She sashayed back into the house towards the living room, with Bobby and Alex following in her wake.

Alex, her nerves having been soothed a bit by the woman's…friendliness, had to suppress a laugh at the look on Bobby's face. She could almost see the wheels grinding as he tried to determine what, or rather who, they were dealing with.

As they entered the living room and sat down, the sense of a party atmosphere increased. In addition to the upbeat music and her "festive" dress, Mrs. Ruiz had half a bottle of champagne and the remains of a six-pack of expensive beer on her coffee table. She had clearly been celebrating.

His original plan of using Eames for shock value having been shot to hell, Bobby decided to play along with Mrs. Ruiz' attitude, and hope that she'd had enough alcohol to let her guard down. Knowing that Eames would, as always, be right there beside him, he began in a sweet, almost conspiratorial tone, "You look lovely, Mrs. Ruiz. May I assume you're not exactly heartbroken about your husband's death?"

Rolling her eyes, Selenia turned to Alex. "This your old man?"

Alex didn't have to fake either her shock or amusement at the question. With a slight chuckle, she answered, "He's my partner."

"Too bad." She gave Bobby an unabashed stare. "He's kinda cute. Big, though. He push you around just 'cuz he can?" Her voice was a little shaky; they both heard it, but it was Bobby who stepped in.

"No, I don't push her around; quite the opposite," he said, ignoring Eames' glare. "Why? Is somebody pushing you around, Mrs. Ruiz?"

When she spoke, it was almost to herself, it was so hushed. "Not anymore." Snapping out of her reverie, she was quick to add, "And it's not Ruiz anymore, either. I'm going back to Morales. Gonna change the kid's name, too, so nobody remembers we ever had anything to do with that piece of shit."

Alex asked gently, "How is your son? Is he upset about losing his father?"

Selenia gave her a sharp look. "Can't lose what you never had. He's at school, where he belongs, and he's just fine. But you and your big partner here don't give a shit about me and my baby, so why don't you just tell me what you want."

_Shit. She's sobering up._ Alex caught Bobby's eye, and knew his thoughts mirrored her own. She nodded slightly, giving him the go-ahead to continue the questioning.

Leaning in and using his gentlest tone, Bobby said, "What we're wondering, Ms. Morales, is why you would help get your husband out of prison if you hated him so much?"

Selenia looked over at him. "Are you a fucking idiot? He was going to get out, with or without me. I helped him because not helping him would have been a death sentence for me and my son."

Bobby, excited by the possibility of getting some good information, nearly bounced in his chair, asking, "What do you mean? Who threatened you? Who forced you?"

Overwhelmed and just realizing she'd spoken too freely, Selenia got up then, staggering a little from fear and alcohol, but head held high in defiance. "I think you should go now."

That was when the shots rang out.


	20. Chapter 20

Cooper had his orders, but wasn't entirely sure he could carry them out. The boss was adamant that neither detective was endangered, but equally determined that Selenia Ruiz be taken care of before she said anything.

He snuck as close to the window as he could without drawing either cop's attention, but was frustrated, as the male detective was blocking his shot.

It had occurred to Cooper that there was very little chance of accomplishing this mission, and even less chance of getting away afterward, but when he had mentioned these concerns to the boss, the message had been clear.

"Get it done, or die trying."

Presuming the latter was more likely than the former, he'd taken the time to move his car a few blocks away, throwing the registration and his ID down a storm drain before returning to Mrs. Ruiz' home. It wasn't good enough, but it would have to do.

He watched, and waited for an opening, relieved to hear the cops still questioning Selenia; she hadn't told them anything important…yet.

He panicked when Manny's widow started talking about helping to get him paroled, and the male cop pounced with his barrage of questions.

And then Selenia Ruiz earned his eternal loyalty; she stood up, and walked toward him.

He took the shot.

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As gunfire erupted around them, Alex tackled Selenia at the knees, knocking her to the ground, as Bobby drew his weapon and aimed at the now-shattered window.

The assailant had disappeared.

Alex checked Selenia for wounds as Bobby headed towards the front door. Their eyes met for an instant; then, each assured that the other was unharmed, they went back to the tasks at hand.

Alex was relieved to see that, though she was terrified, Ms. Morales had not been hit. She was assisting the woman to a seated position when she heard, from outside,

"Hold your fire!"

But it wasn't Bobby's voice.

Drawing her own weapon, she hissed, "Stay down," before cautiously heading towards the door. As she exited into the dusky light of late afternoon, she was stunned to see Bobby, holding both arms up in the air, facing a phalanx of armed agents.

DEA.

Holding her own weapon in an unthreatening position, she drew alongside her partner, seeing for the first time the face-down corpse on the lawn, just in front of the living room window.

An agent approached them carefully. "Detectives Goren and Eames?"

Together, they answered in the affirmative. The agent holstered his weapon as he drew closer, and Alex and Bobby followed suit. He pulled out his ID and extended it. "I'm special agent Jason Rice of the DEA." Gesturing towards the house with his chin, he asked, "She okay?"

Bobby, too, looked at Alex for her answer. "She's fine; didn't get hit. She's petrified, though."

Rice sighed, "She's had a lot of that, lately. I'm just sorry we couldn't move sooner, but we needed this guy," he indicated the corpse, "to do more than hang around watching before we could act."

Bobby spoke softly, "You've been watching the house?"

Rice nodded. "Yeah, we figured somebody might try and shut her up once Ruiz was killed." As he finished speaking, a stunned and now completely sober Selenia Morales exited her home, taking in the scene she encountered with a look of weary resignation.

Taking a step closer to Alex, she pointed a shaky finger at the dead body on her lawn. "D-did he try to k-kill me?"

Rice approached her gently. "He never even got off a shot, ma'am. We got him before he could pull the trigger."

Withdrawing further so that she was half-hidden behind Eames, she asked, "But that's what he was going to do, right?"

Nodding, Rice answered honestly, "Yes, ma'am."

Alex felt the woman grab her arm, as she gasped out, "My son!"

Rice spoke in what he hoped was a calming tone, "He's in protective custody right now, waiting for you to join him."

Her eyes narrowed. "For what?"

The agent, confused, asked, "I'm sorry? What do you want to know, ma'am?"

Her bravado at least somewhat restored, she said clearly and slowly, "You put my son in protective custody, you're offering me protective custody, and I want to know – for what? What do I have to do for you?"

Rice looked at the NYPD detectives for help, but as they both thought it was a valid question, they remained silent.

Realizing that Goren and Eames were waiting for his answer, Rice sighed, "Mrs. Ruiz…"

"Ms. Morales," she corrected firmly.

"Ms. Morales, while we would like to get your testimony, as a potential victim, you will receive protective custody whether or not you agree to talk to us." Gesturing towards the body, he continued, "If this guy is who we think he is, he won't be the last one they send." He looked at Goren. "You can ask Detective Goren; he worked Narcotics for a while. Am I telling the truth, Detective?"

Bobby paused. "It depends. I don't know who you think this guy is."

Alex smiled inwardly; typical Bobby, pursuing as much information as he could get his mind on.

To his credit, Rice was quick to decide to share what he knew. "We think, and our search of a storm drain about a block from here should prove, that he is Lyle Cooper, a lieutenant in the largest drug ring in the tri-state area."

"Do you know who he works for?" Eames wondered.

Rice shook his head. "Cooper's as far up the ladder as we've gotten, and we wouldn't have known who he was if one of his underlings hadn't come to us last month. We've been following him ever since, but until today, we've never seen him get his hands dirty."

"They're panicking," Bobby commented.

Rice nodded his assent. "They had a big operation underway, taking over for some of the locals, but Ruiz' murder has thrown them off their game."

Selenia, who'd been listening with wide eyes, spoke to Alex directly. "Detective Eames, do you think I need protective custody?"

Alex turned to face her. "I do. These are very dangerous people, and even if you don't know anything, it seems they think you do, which means they'll keep coming after you." She reached out to take the shaken woman's hand. "It could be a fresh start for you and your son."

Selenia considered this, then spoke to Agent Rice. "Even if I decide not to say anything?"

"Absolutely," he assured her, "we'll help you find a job, a good school for your son, and we'll keep you safe." He directed his next comment at both her and Eames. "These bastards have already killed, directly or indirectly, too many innocent people. We don't want you and your son to be their victims anymore."

Tears escaped her eyes, but it was clear that her decision was made. With a last, grateful look at Bobby and Alex, she allowed Rice to lead her back into her home to gather the belongings that meant something to her.

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Despite the presence of about a dozen DEA agents, Bobby felt the need to touch Eames, to assure himself that she was still here, safe, with him. He splayed his fingers across the small of her back and leaned down to whisper, "Okay, Eames?"

He was heartened when, though clearly upset, she reached a hand around to join his where it's settled on her. Though her eyes are clouded with grief and some residual fear, she meets his evenly, allowing him to see her emotions, trusting him.

They breathed in the moment together, but it's all too brief, as Bobby's cell phone buzzes and a man in a suit approaches to speak to Alex.

She waves Bobby off with a weary half-smile, and steps forward to deal with the man she assumes is the DEA commander.

Her theory proves correct when he introduces himself, then draws her to a quiet corner of the yard to speak privately.

Bobby's clearly in the middle of an interesting phone cal, and she's amused to watch him from a distance, an impossibly large man gesticulating wildly to the phone, as if the caller could see him. It's an endearing quality, and it reminds her of all the things she wants to tell him, so she makes a mental note before focusing her attention on the man before her. "What did you want to tell me, Agent Falk?"

He spoke softly, "Detective, we've been following Manuel Ruiz since the day he got out of prison."

Startled, her head jerks as she looks at his eyes to confirm what he said. The agent recognizes the gesture, and nods before continuing, "We are aware that you underwent a residue test this morning, but I wanted you to know that the DEA will provide any testimony you need to clear your name."

A sour anger building in her stomach, she spat out, "You saw him kill those two men?"

A nod.

"And you saw who killed him?"

"Yes," Falk sighed, "and though we have no idea who she is, we are sure she isn't you."

Barely restraining her fury, Alex lowered her voice, a sign that anyone who knew her would have recognized and run from. Falk had no such forewarning, so he took her words head on. "And not only did you stand back and watch three murders without intervening, you didn't bother to tell me or anyone a Major Case that you saw Ruiz' murder until," she checked her watch, "some 15 hours after the fact, and you're doing it on the sly! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Stepping back from her force, a grim look on his now-pale face, Falk hissed, "I guess you didn't come from Narcotics."

"No," she answered, walking away from him and towards Bobby, "I was Vice."

"Really? I don't see it."

Eames replied in her most false sweet tone, "Oh, gee, thanks, Agent Falk."

As he watched her storm away, he shouted, "You're welcome, Detective!"

"Bite me," she muttered, to the great but wisely restrained amusement of two of his subordinates.

Bobby had just finished his second call when she strode up, and one glance at her face told him her conversation with the besuited DEA commander had not been pleasant. But he had news to tell her, and he had no intention of doing it in front of a crowd, so, making an executive decision, he took her by the arm and steered her towards their car.

Though she walked in the direction he was aiming for, she peppered him with questions; "Where are we going? What about Selenia? Who was on the phone? What were you so excited about?"

He walked her over to the driver's side of the car, and, turning to use his body to block anyone's view, leaned down to plant a brief kiss on her lips. "You only need one answer for now, and I promise you'll get the rest later. We are going to dinner."

"But what about…"

"Eames! We. Are. Going. To. Dinner. Now please, get in the car and drive."

He walked around to the passenger door and got in quickly, before it could occur to her to drive off without him. The wicked smile on her face told him he'd been just in time. He told her where they were headed, and buckled up, sure she had a plan to make him pay for his uncharacteristic bossiness.

As she pulled away from the busy scene of the Ruiz residence, she said, never taking her eyes off the road, "If I'd known sleeping with you would make you willing to leave work early, I'd have done it years ago."

His laughter lasted for quite a few blocks.

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Not long after the NYPD detectives had left, one of Falk's agents called him over to the body.

"We've got something very interesting in this guy's pocket."

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**A/N – I don't own nothin' and ain't nobody payin' me. Okay? Thanks for continuing to read and review.**


	21. Chapter 21

After hanging up with Goren, Ross called Logan and Jeffries into his office. Giving them a brief summary of the events that had transpired that afternoon at the Ruiz home, he also explained that he'd briefed Goren on the developments at MCS.

"So, Goren and Eames are on their way back?" asked Jeffries.

Shaking his head, Ross answered, "Actually, no. Goren said they had a meeting. We set up to have a planning session here first thing tomorrow." He didn't mention that while he had tried to persuade Goren to bring his partner back to the squad immediately, the big detective had dug in his heels, insisting that their meeting couldn't wait. Nor did Ross bring up the fact that he'd made a rather vulgar insinuation about the nature of said meeting, and that Goren had, quietly but firmly, 'educated' him about the folly of his words. _No point in looking like an asshole to both pairs of detectives, right?_

What Ross did say was, "The two of you barely got three hours sleep last night in the bunk. Go home, and let's address this in the morning."

Logan, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, nor turn down a night off, mumbled a quick "'Night" and was gone, with Jeffries not too far behind.

Ross was relieved at not having to explain further. He'd been about an inch from putting an official reprimand in Goren's file when he'd received two phone calls in quick succession, the substance of which had made him rethink his anger at his rebellious detective. While he still harbored a strong resistance to Goren's "charms", he was beginning to see, through both personal experience and the help of people whose opinions he respected, that the Goren/Eames partnership, unusual, quirky, and potentially problematic as it was, was more of an asset to Major Case than he'd at first understood.

Whether he could keep that partnership intact under the new "circumstances" remained to be seen, but he suspected that decision would be more influenced by Goren and Eames' actions than his own.

Which was, to be truthful, incredibly annoying.

With a sigh, Ross gathered his belongings and got ready to head home. _I'll deal with Nick and Nora tomorrow._

As he exited the office, he sighed again. _Or, more likely, they'll deal with me._

He shut off the light.

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Bobby sighed. It had been a very long drive back to the city; her curiosity having gotten the better of her, Eames had pulled out the big guns; she'd threatened to spend the entire drive in the slow lane, and tell him not one syllable of her conversation with Falk, unless he started talking.

_And they say I'm a skilled interrogator? I learned at the feet of the master…mistress…I'm just here to serve the Queen._

Fearing she would make good on her threat, he'd agreed to tell Eames at least a part of what she wanted to know.

His first conversation had been with their host for the evening, agreeing to dinner. He'd already had to tell her where they were headed, since she was driving, and as he was yet unwilling to share any further content of that phone conversation, she started to change lanes. Only the use of a sad puppy face had kept her from following through, but she'd then insisted (_rather loudly, for someone so small_, he'd idly thought, before suppressing it just in case she was currently reading his mind) that he at the very least give her a summary of his second conversation, which she'd correctly guessed was with Ross.

_There's a part of that I'll never tell you, my lovely partner, because two murder investigations in two days won't look good on your record._

He had, however, given her a quick rundown of Logan and Jeffries' suspicions about the records clerk, at which point she'd been ready to head directly to the squad to put the patented Eames smackdown on the girl. Attempting to keep her calm without using his "good cop" voice, which she was sure to both recognize and be infuriated by, he'd explained that the discovery had happened too late in the day to pursue, and filled her in on the plan to meet early in the morning to strategize. He was thankful when this appeased her, but it was to be a short reprieve.

Easing her foot off the gas, she'd demanded information on the status of Selenia and her son, and their deal with the DEA. At this point, he'd gotten a little…frustrated.

"Damn, Eames, can't you be patient? I'm just going to have to repeat all this at dinner, anyway."

She'd immediately shifted into the center lane before fixing him with a look that would have killed a lesser man, and stating, "Robert; (_oh shit)_ Item one; don't curse at me. Item two; no, I can't be patient, so deal with it, and item three; as IF you don't love the sound of your own voice. Half the time we're with a suspect, I can't get a word in edgewise because you're delivering a soliloquy, so if you have to repeat yourself, TOO BAD!"

At this point, he'd gotten a little…annoyed.

Okay, a little annoyed and maybe a little…scared.

Okay, okay, a little annoyed, more than a little scared, and also, just a little…aroused.

He couldn't be blamed; not really. Her eyes were just so full of fire, and it had been a very long and difficult day, and…

_Yeah, I'm kind of a pervert when it comes to Eames._

Maintaining silence while she tooled along, ostensibly happily ensconced in the dreaded middle lane, he'd waited for a moment when traffic was so slow, all she was doing was steering and occasionally letting up on the brake.

Then he made his move.

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When Cooper didn't check in, he knew it was time to move.

He cursed silently as he lit the fire; years of work, all gone in an instant, because he'd been foolish enough to believe that Ruiz would equate gratitude with loyalty and obedience. He should have known better; should not have made this grave miscalculation. Perhaps he'd gotten complacent with his success.

He sighed, not looking back as the flames began to engulf the material symbols of his life. He was honest enough to recognize his own weaknesses as well as those of others, and he would examine his errors at a time in the not-too-distant future, but now was not the moment for introspection.

He slid into the back of his limousine as he dialed his pilot, ordering him to Teterboro immediately to get the plane ready for a long journey. He cut off all questions by disconnecting the call, and tried to focus on what awaited him in his new home; money, anonymity, and peace.

The chauffeur waited for direction, and he tossed off the hangar address, finally relaxing enough to settle back into the seat.

He heard the sputter as the engine failed to turn over and instinctively reached for the door handle, but it was too late. The chauffeur had already tried again, and this time he had succeeded in ignition.

Neither man felt a thing as the explosives quickly destroyed every part of the car and everything (and everyone) in it.

And that was a shame, Michael O'Donnell thought to himself. He was satisfied that his vengeance had been successful, but disappointed that he couldn't have made it slow and painful. He would have felt badly about having to kill the chauffeur as well as the target, but as his mother always said, 'when you lie down with dogs…'. He could almost hear his brother laughing at that, and he decided that tonight, the O'Donnells would celebrate not only their victory, but the life of the little brother who'd been the apple of their mother's eye.

He walked slowly away, feeling the heat of the flames from both the car and the warehouse caressing his back, and knowing that he'd done what he needed to for the pride of his family. There would of course be consequences of his actions; the cops and the feds would be more vigilant for a while, and operations would naturally slow down, but it would also be painfully obvious to anyone planning a move against the O'Donnells that they did so at their peril.

All in all, he'd had a good day.

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_Mmmm…that feels good_, Alex' libido thought, while her common sense was busy trying to divest her ear of the tongue of an oversized (and apparently oversexed) detective.

"I am driving, Robert," she gritted out through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the tingling sensations working their way down her spine.

"AND, this is not the way to end a fight." Alex was aiming for stern and forbidding, but the slightly moany quality in her voice belied her words, and she heard Bobby's chuckle in her ear as he continued his assault, his left hand now caressing her thigh.

In a low, throaty tone, he murmured, "Seems like a good solution to me." Lick. Hot breath. Shiver. "And since I'm not driving, I need something to do."

Pushing his hand down towards her knee, she muttered, "Can't you just sit still and think like you usually do?" His hand was traveling north again, and she knew she should do something about it, especially considering she was currently attempting to safely exit the highway, but her pesky libido was too busy increasing her body temperature to cooperate, and her common sense had pretty much given up, and was trying to recall any secluded parking lots between here and their destination.

Working his way from her ear to her throat, Bobby groaned, "But I was thinking, Eames' it's just that this is what I was thinking about."

"Oh," was the best response she could come up with, and considering that her libido and her common sense had now teamed up and were holding up a sign that said 'Go, Bobby, Go!', she figured it was a sign of self-restraint that she still had both hands on the wheel.

And then it happened.

Clearly operating with a will of its own, the SUV had driven itself right up to their destination, and had even managed to parallel park.

Uppity fuckin' car.

They realized at precisely the same moment that they would have to save the conclusion of this activity for later, and their combined frustrated sighs were a bit whinier than either one of them liked.

Deciding that she needed just a little vengeance, Alex moved swiftly, grabbing the back of Bobby's head and kissing him fiercely, feeling his heartbeat increase against her chest. When she pulled away, they stared at each other for a moment, both gasping for breath, but it was Alex who recovered first.

Unbuckling her seatbelt and grabbing her purse, she slid out of the SUV and called out cheerfully, "Come on, Goren. You insisted we have dinner; here we are!"

Cursing himself, Bobby reluctantly followed her. _Me and my bright ideas._

**A/N - Law and Order: Criminal Intent and its established characters don't belong to me, despite much begging and even a bit of groveling on my part. Oh well, I'll just play with them then, earning no money, but being very much fulfilled by those who read and review!**


	22. Chapter 22

**As it's been some time since my last update, and I don't want to force anyone into rereading…when last we left our heroes, Eames' husband Joe had been murdered by Ruiz, a drug dealer who was paroled while she was recovering from her kidnapping. She and Bobby found their way to each other as he helped her cope with Ruiz' release, but alas, Ruiz (who was working as a hit man for a major kingpin) was murdered with the gun that had killed Joe, and Eames is a suspect. She and Goren went to interview Ruiz' widow and found themselves entangled with the DEA (including Agent Falk, who Eames was…not fond of), while Logan, Jeffries and Ross had a suspect at One PP who may have gotten access to the murder weapon. While the kingpin for whom Ruiz worked was killed by a car bomb, an unaware Bobby insisted Alex join him for dinner with "friends", and the partners struggled with wanting to "get some" as opposed to "get some answers." And Alyssa rocked, but see more about that in the A/N after the chapter, okay?**

The group gathered in the living room had no idea about the …frustration their two guests were enduring right outside.

But not one of them would have been surprised.

Waiting for Goren and Eames to arrive from the Ruiz scene, there's been some good-natured joking about the two detectives and their "relationship issues." The consensus was that everyone hoped recent events had pushed them over the so-called line, but that tonight, the subject would be left alone, as there were bigger fish to fry.

Less fun and interesting fish, for sure, but still.

One member of the party, however, had insisted on having at least a little bit of fun with Goren and Eames, and as such, was especially delighted when the doorbell finally rang.

"I'll get it!"

The others' mumbled "We know"s were ignored. _Let them think what they will. I finally have my golden opportunity to surprise Detective Goren, and I fully intend to make the most of it._

As he answered the door with a huge grin on his face, he was rewarded by both catching a rather steamy gaze exchanged between the partners, then by the gobsmacked and slightly guilty look on Goren's face.

Eames, as per usual, was quick to recover. "Mr. Carver," she extended a hand, "what are you doing here?"

His grin growing even larger, as he took her hand, he said simply, "Didn't you know, Detective? I'm your lawyer."

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Agents Falk and Rice exchanged a frustrated look as the FDNY captain explained that the warehouse was not yet safe for them to enter.

Falk, unused to being thwarted, puffed out his chest and adopted a superior tone. "Captain…Jennings, was it? Perhaps I didn't explain myself fully. It is imperative that my team get into that warehouse before any more evidence is destroyed."

With a weary roll of his eyes, Kurt Jennings answered, his voice tight with annoyance. "You explained yourself perfectly well, Mr. Falk, and I understand what you want. What you need to understand is that you will get into this building when I say it's safe, and not a minute sooner. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with the Chief. I have work to do." Jennings walked back to his command post, shaking his head.

Falk was about to follow and pursue the argument when Rice grabbed his arm and hissed, "You already went a round with NYPD today and probably will again tomorrow; do you really want to piss off the Fire Department too?"

Falk took a deep breath, and realized that the junior agent was making a very good point. His earlier conversation with Detective Eames hadn't gone the way he'd planned, and rather than the gratitude he'd expected, she'd been genuinely angry at the DEA's hands-off approach to the drug murders. It was likely, too, that she would report the incident to her captain, and that he could expect more NYPD flak sooner than later.

Falk had been with the DEA for more than 15 long years, and he vaguely remembered having, early in his career, a similar reaction to the agency's willingness to let the dealers kill each other. But experience had shown him that the consolidation of power, which was usually the goal of these types of killings, was beneficial to public safety. The big kingpins ran tight ships, and that tended to cut down on random gunplay.

He sighed, looking over at the decimated car, what was left of its former occupants already removed and on their way to the federal morgue. Though Falk didn't know the precise identity of the man who'd been in the back seat, expertise and instinct told him he'd been a major player.

_If only we'd found that card sooner. If only we'd figured out it led us here sooner. If only I'd gotten here sooner…_

The cop's litany.

Falk ran a hand through his thinning hair, knowing that, in addition to the potential for vengeance killings from the dead man's soldiers, they could expect a major power struggle to erupt over the vacuum created by this death. His agency, along with the NYPD's Narcotics Squad, faced some tough and busy days ahead, and, Falk thought bitterly, Eames and her colleagues at Major Case would be out of it, off chasing their latest jewel thief or wayward celebrity.

He knew it wasn't really a fair view of MCS; they say, as all cops did, their share of violence and ugliness. But he was disappointed at not having established a better rapport with the female detective the way Rice had. In researching Eames and her partner when they got dragged into the case, both agents had been impressed with the longtime partners' solve rate and reputation, and Falk had wanted to know more about the attractive blonde who'd survived an encounter with a young Manuel Ruiz and had gone on to be a persuasive advocate for victims' rights, without ever presenting herself as a victim.

Falk sighed again, and stepped back to lean against his car, a sign to Rice and the FDNY that he would wait for the all-clear without creating any further turmoil. There was no real rush anyway; the chance of someone this high up having left behind evidence of any importance was miniscule.

He settled in for the wait.

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While Alex had resigned herself to an evening of waiting to be alone with her partner, she found that she was actually settling in and relaxing, for which she was grateful, if a bit surprised.

After his initial "Gotcha" at the door, Carver had been all smoothness, escorting her into the Deakins' living room, and facilitating the round of greetings with his wife Deirdre as well as Jimmy and Angie.

Of course he'd virtually ignored Bobby, having already milked as much amusement out of him as was permitted, but Alex knew her partner was unlikely to be fazed by that. Carver's hand on the small of her back, however, was quite another matter, and she made certain to throw a small eyeroll and wink over her shoulder at Bobby, which she knew he would correctly interpret.

_As if._

She was gratified when he winked back, her message having been received, and so took the offered seat and refocused her attention on their hosts, all of whom were smiling at her and wearing similar "cat that ate the canary" looks.

This was sure to be trouble.

Arching a practiced eyebrow, she addressed herself first to Carver. "My lawyer, Mr. Carver?"

"Ron," he interrupted, earning a strangled sound from Bobby, who attempted to cover it with a cough.

"You okay there, Goren?" Deakins queried, a twinkle in his eye.

Taking the seat next to Alex, though not too close, Bobby waved off the "concern." "Fine, Captain…uh, Jimmy. Though, since you didn't mention that Mr. and Mrs. Carver would be here when we spoke earlier, I am a bit surprised. Um, uh, pleasantly, of course."

_Heh. _Alex was amused at Bobby's effort to be civil, knowing his innate distrust of lawyers in general, and Carver in specific. _I'll have to reward him later. Maybe I could…danger, Alex, don't let your thoughts wander too far down that particular garden path, or Bobby will know, and he's certainly not above throwing you down on this couch and marking his territory, just to piss Carver off._

_God, I love that about him._

With an effort, she brought her mind back to the present, and turned and shot a quizzical look towards Carver. "Okay, Ron, what made you decide to represent me? I know you've gone into private practice, but not as a defense attorney."

"Exactly," Deakins piped up. "With a former prosecutor representing you, it will be crystal clear that you're innocent. A no-brainer."

Alex pondered this for a moment in silence, but Bobby felt the need to voice a concern.

"Mr. Carver, as much as Eames and I genuinely appreciate your offer, I worry that a jury might see your representing her as an extension of the thin blue line – cops and prosecutors protecting each other."

Eames started to speak up, but Carver interrupted her to answer Bobby. "I would tend to agree with you, Detective, but I'll simply bring up my unblemished record of bringing dirty cops to justice. Not to mention yours," he indicated both Bobby and Alex with a casual wave of his hand.

Stunned into silence by this almost-friendly and entirely unnecessary exchange between her partner and the former ADA, Alex was startled when Angie Deakins laid a gentle hand on her knee. With a smile, Angie leaned in to speak quietly. "It's entirely up to you, of course, my dear, but I believe it's the right move for you. Ron can cite your excellent history with the Department, and keep the prosecution from dragging your personal life into it."

Overhearing, Bobby began to grumble, and soon the Deakins' living room had deteriorated into a cacophony of point and counterpoint.

Looking over at Deirdre Carver, the cool and collected eye of this particular hurricane, Alex smiled with what she hoped was perceived as gratitude before bringing her hand to her mouth and letting loose a piercing whistle.

All eyes on her, she grinned. "I don't need a lawyer." With the full attention of her audience, she explained what Agent Falk had told her, managing, with effort, to suppress her anger in the hope of not rousing Bobby's.

No such luck.

With a rather frightening growl, he described in great detail his plans for Falk, Rice, and any and every DEA agent on whom he could get his hands.

Alex, for her part, was unperturbed by this display, as she knew Goren was just blowing off steam, and could see that his anger at the hell they'd been through was tempering slowly as the relief hit him.

The others, save Deakins, were less inured to Bobby's fury, and had retreated to a corner of the living room, where they were conducting what appeared to be a strategy session. Eames looked on in amusement, mildly curious as to whether their plans were related to the attempted frame-up, the DEA, or, more likely, finding a way to get Goren out of the house.

Braver than the rest and less fazed by Goren's now-diminishing rant, Deakins approached her and a still-pacing Bobby with caution, but not fear, noting silently that Eames' hand brushed Goren's each time he passed her, and that with each touch, he seemed to calm a bit more. "Alex, I know you're a little…er…busy right now, but if Ron and I could have a word…"

She stood and laid a soothing hand on Bobby's shoulder before following the two men into Jimmy's den and home office. Alex was sure Angie and Deirdre were in no danger from Goren and could handle him just fine even if his temper was reignited; not to mention, she was curious as to why Carver and Deakins wanted to speak to her alone.

"What's up?" she asked, as lightly as possible.

Carver met her eyes, his own serious. "Detective, I'm relieved and thrilled that you won't be needing my services as a defense attorney. That being said, I think I may still be of some assistance to you."

As he went on, outlining his idea, Alex' jaw dropped.

**A/N – Long time no see! I must admit that sadly, in my long absence, I did not acquire the ownership of Goren, Eames, nor any of the other established characters of Law and Order: Criminal Intent. I did, however, acquire the most awesome beta ever, so give it up for Alyssa (Scripted Starlet) for polishing this, coming up with the idea of the synopsis above, and assuring me that maybe people might still be interested in reading it. She kicks 9 kinds of ass, but if you've read any of her stories (and if you haven't, GO NOW) you already know that.**


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